I 
CHATEAU  LAND 

ANNE  HOLLINGSWORTH 

WHARTON 


^ 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


M  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELA 


By   Anne   Hollingiwortb    Wkarton 


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NYiirilrin  1  rercs,  I'hot 


LOCHES  WITH   GATE   or  CORDELIERS 


IN  CHATEAU 
LAND 


ANNE  HOLLINGSWORTH  WHARTON 


With  25  Illustrations 


PHILADELPHIA  AND   LONDON 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT     COMPANY 

MCMXI 


COPTRIGHT,  19x1,  BT  J.  B.  tIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


Published  November,  1911 


FHIMTBD  BT  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANT 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON   SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


I  P40B 

AN   EMBARRASSMENT  OF   CHATEAUX 9 

II 
AN   ISLAND   CHATEAU 30 

m 

AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 45 

IV 

EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 64 

V 

IN  AND   AROUND  TOURS 80 

VI 

LANGEAIS   AND   AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 96 

VII 

TWO  QUEENS   AT  AMBOISE 117 

VIII 

A  BATTLE  ROYAL   OF   DAMES 146 

IX 

A  FAIR  PRISON 174 

X 

COMPENSATIONS 202 

XI 

THE  ROMANCE  OF   BLOffi 226 

XII 

THREE  CHATEAUX 258 

XIII 

CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 295 

XIV 

ANGERS 319 

XV 

ORLEANS   AND  ITS  MAID 849 

XVI 

A  CHATEAU  PETE 369 


2133727 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


LOCHES,   WITH  GATE  OF   CORDELIEBS Frontispiece 

BOLA  BELLA,   LAKE  MAGQIORE 36 

STAIRCASE  AND  CLOITRE  DE  LA  PSALLETTE,   ST.   GATIEN 82 

MEDLEY AL  STAIRWAY,   CHATEAU  OF   LUYNES 96 

ENTRANCE  TO  LANGEAIB,  WITH  DRAWBRIDGE 98 

CAFE  RABELAIS   OPPOSITE  CHATEAU  OF   LANGEAIS 108 

CHATEAU  OF  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU,    EAST  FACADE 112 

CHATEAU  OF  LANGEAIS,   FROM  THE  LOIRE 120 

CHATEAU  OF  AMBOISE,   FROM   OPPOSITE  BANK  OF  THE  LOIRE.    ISO 

CHENONCEAUX,    MARQUES    TOWER   AND   GALLERY  ACROSS  THE 

CHER 154 

HOUSE  OF  TRISTAN  L'HERMITE 178 

AGNES  80REL 188 

ENTRANCE  TO  CHATEAU  OF   BLO1S,  WITH  STATUE  OF  LOUIS  XII  214 

COURT  OF   BLOB,   WITH  STAIRCASE  OF  FRANCIS   I 2£8 

LOUISE  DE  LA  VALLIERE 238 

CHATEAU  OF  CHAUMONT,   THE  LOIRE  ON  THE  LEFT 264 

SMITHY   NEAR  GATE  OF  CHEVERNY 278 

FROM  PHOTOGRAPH   BT  MRS.   OTIS  SKINNER 

ANNE  DE  THOU,  DAME  DE  CHEVERNY 282 

CHATEAU  OF  CHAMBORD 286 

RUINS  OF  CHATEAU   OF  COUDRAY   AT   CHIN  ON 296 

FRENCH  CAVE  DWELLINGS  NEAR  SAUMUR 316 

FORGE  NEAR  STONE  STAIRWAY   AT  LUYNES 354 

FROM  PHOTOGRAPH  BT  MRS.  OTIS  SKINNER 

HOTEL   CABU 364 

HOUSE  OF  JOAN  OF  ARC 364 

BALLE  DEB  MARRIAGES,   ORLEANS 366 


IN   CHATEAU   LAND 


i 

AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

HOTEL  FLORENCE,  BELLAGIO,  August  10th. 

You  will  be  surprised,  dear  Margaret,  to 
have  a  letter  from  me  here  instead  of  from 
Touraine.  We  fully  intended  to  go  directly 
from  the  Dolomites  and  Venice  to  Milan  and  on 
to  Tours,  stopping  a  day  or  two  in  Paris  en 
route,  but  Miss  Cassandra  begged  for  a  few 
days  on  Lake  Como,  as  in  all  her  travels  by  sea 
and  shore  she  has  never  seen  the  Italian  lakes. 
We  changed  our  itinerary  simply  to  be  obliging, 
but  Walter  and  I  have  had  no  reason  to  regret 
the  change  for  one  minute. 

Beautiful  as  you  and  I  found  this  region  in 
June,  I  must  admit  that  its  August  charms  are 
more  entrancing  and  pervasive.  Instead  of  the 
clear  blues,  greens  and  purples  of  June,  the 
light  haze  that  veils  the  mountain  tops  brings 
out  the  same  indescribable  opalescent  shades  of 

9 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


heliotrope,  azure  and  rose  that  we  thought 
belonged  exclusively  to  the  Dolomites.  How- 
ever, these  mountains  are  first  cousins,  once  or 
twice  removed,  to  the  Eastern  Italian  and 
Austrian  Alps  and  have  a  good  right  to  a  family 
likeness.  There  is  something  almost  intoxi- 
cating in  the  ethereal  beauty  of  this  lake,  some- 
thing that  goes  to  one's  head  like  wine.  I  don't 
wonder  that  poets  and  artists  rave  about  its 
charms,  of  which  not  the  least  is  its  infinite 
variety.  The  scene  changes  so  quickly.  The 
glow  of  color  fades,  a  cloud  obscures  the  sun, 
the  blue  and  purple  turn  to  gray  in  an  instant, 
and  we  descend  from  a  hillside  garden,  where 
gay  flowers  gain  added  brilliancy  from  the  sun, 
to  a  cypress-bordered  path  where  the  grateful 
shade  is  so  dense  that  we  walk  in  twilight  and 
listen  to  the  liquid  note  of  the  nightingale,  or 
the  blackcap,  whose  song  is  sometimes  mistaken 
for  that  of  his  more  distinguished  neighbor. 

This  morning  when  we  were  resting  in  a  hill- 
side pavilion,  near  the  Villa  Giulia,  gazing  upon 
the  sapphire  lake  and  the  line  of  purple  Alps 
beyond,  we  concluded  that  nothing  was  needed 
to  complete  the  beauty  of  the  scene  but  a  snow 
mountain  in  the  distance,  when  lo !  as  if  in  obe- 
dience to  our  call,  a  cloud  that  shrouded  some 
10 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

far-off  peaks  slowly  lifted,  revealing  to  us  the 
shining  crest  of  Monte  Rosa.  It  really  seemed 
as  if  Monte  Rosa  had  amiably  thrown  up  that 
dazzling  white  shoulder  for  our  especial  delec- 
tation. This  evening  at  sunset  it  will  be  touched 
with  delicate  pink. 

I  am  writing  this  afternoon  on  one  of  the 
long  tables  so  conveniently  placed  on  the  upper 
deck  of  the  little  steamers  upon  which  we  made 
so  many  excursions  when  you  and  I  were  here 
in  June.  The  colors  of  sky,  mountain  and  lake 
are  particularly  lovely  at  this  time  of  the  day. 
Miss  Cassandra  and  Lydia  have  taken  out  their 
water  colors,  and  are  trying  to  put  upon  paper 
the  exquisite  translucent  shades  of  the  moun- 
tains that  surround  the  lake.  Lydia  says  that 
the  wash  of  water  colors  reproduces  these 
atmospheric  effects  much  more  faithfully  than 
the  solid  oils,  and  she  and  our  Quaker  lady  are 
washing  away  at  their  improvised  easels,  hav- 
ing sent  the  children  off  for  fresh  glasses  of 
water.  While  I  write  to  you,  Walter  lights  his 
cigar  and  gives  himself  up  to  day  dreams,  and 
I  shall  soon  say  au  revoir  and  devote  myself 
to  the  same  delightful,  if  unprofitable,  occupa- 
tion, as  this  fairy  lake  is  the  place  of  all  others 
in  which  to  dream  and  lead  the  dolce  far  niente 
11 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


life  of  Italy.  And  so  we  float  about  in  boats,  as 
at  Venice,  and  think  not  of  the  morrow.  By  we, 
I  mean  Walter,  Lydia  and  myself,  as  the  chil- 
dren and  Miss  Cassandra  are  fatiguingly  ener- 
getic. She  has  just  reminded  me  that  there  is 
something  to  do  here  beside  gazing  at  these 
picturesque  shores  from  a  boat,  as  there  are 
numerous  villas  to  be  visited,  to  most  of  which 
are  attached  gardens  of  marvellous  beauty. 
We  are  passing  one  just  now  which  has  a  water 
gate,  over  which  climbing  geraniums  have 
thrown  a  veil  of  bloom.  The  villa  itself  is  of  a 
delicate  salmon  color,  and  the  garden  close  to 
the  lake  is  gay  with  many  flowers,  petunias  and 
pink  and  white  oleanders  being  most  in  evi- 
dence. The  roses  are  nearly  over,  but  other 
flowers  have  taken  their  places,  and  the  gardens 
all  along  the  shore  make  brilliant  patches  of 
color. 

It  is  not  strange  that  Bulwer  chose  this  lake 
as  the  site  of  Melnotte's  chateau  en  Espagne, 
for  surely  there  could  not  be  found  a  more 
fitting  spot  for  a  romance  than  this  deep  vale, 

"  Shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world, 
Near  a  clear  lake,  margined  by  fruits  of  gold, 
And  whispering  myrtles,  glassing  softest  skies." 
12 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

We  were  wondering  what  "golden  fruits" 
were  to  be  found  on  these  shores  at  this  time, 
oranges  and  nespoli  being  out  of  season,  when 
some  boatmen  in  a  small  fishing  smack  began  to 
sing  the  "Santa  Lucia"  beloved  by  the  Nea- 
politans. A  handsome,  middle-aged  woman 
seated  near  us,  touched  to  tears  by  the  pene- 
trating sweetness  of  the  song,  as  it  reached  us 
across  the  waters,  and  with  the  camaraderie 
induced  by  the  common  hap  of  travel,  has  just 
whispered  in  my  ear  that  her  husband  proposed 
to  her  at  Bellagio.  I  fancied  the  happy  pair 
floating  about  in  a  boat  with  a  beautiful  brown 
and  yellow  sail,  but  the  lady  has  destroyed  my 
picture  by  telling  me  that  she  was  over  in  New 
York  at  the  time.  It  appears  that  a  timid  and 
somewhat  uncertain  admirer,  the  kind  that  we 
read  about  in  old-fashioned  novels,  as  he 
strolled  by  the  shores  of  the  lake  at  twilight, 
heard  a  boatman  singing  her  favorite  song 
and  the  melody  of  "Santa  Lucia"  floating  forth 
upon  the  still  air,  coupled  with  the  beauty  of 
the  scene,  so  wrought  upon  his  feelings  that  he 
forthwith  wrote  her  a  love  letter  by  the  flicker- 
ing light  of  a  bougie.  This  little  incident  dates 
back  to  the  more  romantic  if  less  comfortable 

13 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


days  before  electricity  came  to  light  our  way, 
even  in  remote  places. 

August  llth. 

There  are  so  many  chateaux  to  be  visited, 
and  so  many  excursions  on  the  lake  to  be  made 
that  we  could  stay  here  a  month  and  have  a 
charming  plan  for  each  day.  This  morning,  we 
climbed  a  winding  mountain  path  to  the  Villa 
Serbelloni  and  wandered  through  the  hillside 
garden,  with  its  grottoes  and  tunnels,  to  a 
natural  balcony  overhanging  a  precipice  of 
sheer  rock  that  rises  above  the  lake.  From  this 
height  there  is  a  view  of  the  whole  northern 
part  of  Lake  Como,  with  the  Alps  beyond,  and 
here  one  realizes  the  beauty  of  Bellagio  which 
along  the  water  front  is  but  a  long  line  of  shops. 
Situated  on  the  extreme  end  of  the  point  of  land 
that  separates  Lake  Como  from  its  southern 
arm,  the  Lago  di  Lecco,  the  little  town  rises 
upon  its  terraces,  and  with  its  steep,  narrow 
streets  and  winding  paths,  is  as  picturesque  as 
only  an  Italian  hillside  villagio  can  be. 

On  this  Punta  di  Bellagio  is  situated  one  of 
the  numerous  villas  of  the  younger  Pliny; 
another  villa  we  saw,  near  the  curious  inter- 
mittent spring,  which  he  described  in  his  letters. 

14 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

This  Larian  Lake,  as  the  ancients  called  it,  is 
full  of  classic  associations,  and  of  those  of  a 
later  time  connected  with  Italy's  heroic  struggle 
for  independence,  for  the  Villa  Pliniana  was 
once  the  home  of  the  heroic  and  beautiful  Prin- 
cess Christina  Belgiojoso,  the  friend  of  Cavour 
and  Garibaldi,  who  equipped  a  troop  of  Lom- 
bardy  volunteers  which  she  herself  commanded, 
until  she  was  banished  from  Italy  by  order  of 
the  Austrian  general. 

Gazing  upon  the  blue  lake,  on  whose  shining 
bosom  the  rocky  shores  were  so  charmingly 
mirrored,  to-day,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
great  storms  ever  sweep  over  its  still  waters, 
yet  habitues  of  this  region  tell  us  that  this 
Punta  di  Bellagio  is  the  centre  of  furious 
storms,  the  most  violent  coming  from  behind 
Monte  Crocione,  back  of  Cadenabbia,  and 
sweeping  with  great  fury  across  the  lake.  Such 
a  storm  as  this  was  the  memorable  one  of  1493, 
upon  whose  violence  chroniclers  of  the  time 
delighted  to  descant.  This  particular  tempest, 
which  was  probably  no  more  severe  than  many 
others,  found  a  place  in  history  and  romance 
because  its  unmannerly  waters  tossed  about  the 
richly  decorated  barge  of  Bianca  Sf  orza,  whose 

15 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


marriage  to  Maximilian,  King  of  the  Romans, 
had  been  solemnized  with  great  magnificence,  at 
the  cathedral  in  Milan,  three  days  before.  The 
bridal  party  set  forth  from  Como  in  brilliant 
sunshine,  the  shores  crowded  with  men  and 
women  in  holiday  attire,  and  the  air  filled  with 
joyous  music.  Bianca's  barge  was  rowed  by 
forty  sailors,  says  Nicolo  da  Correggio,  while 
her  suite  followed  in  thirty  boats,  painted  and 
decked  out  with  laurel  boughs  and  tapestries. 
This  gay  cortege  reached  Bellagio  in  safety, 
and  after  a  night  spent  at  a  castle  on  the  pro- 
montory the  bride  and  her  attendants  set  sail 
toward  the  upper  end  of  the  lake.  Hardly  had 
they  left  the  shore  when  the  weather  changed, 
and  a  violent  storm  scattered  the  fleet  in  all 
directions.  Bianca's  richly  decorated  barge, 
with  her  fine  hundred-thousand-ducat  trousseau 
aboard,  was  tossed  about  as  mercilessly  as  if  it 
had  been  a  fisherman's  smack.  The  poor  young 
Queen  and  her  ladies  wept  and  cried  aloud  to 
God  for  mercy.  Giasone  del  Maino,  says  the 
chronicler,  alone  preserved  his  composure,  and 
calmly  smiled  at  the  terror  of  the  courtiers, 
while  he  besought  the  frightened  boatmen  to 
keep  their  heads.  Happily,  the  tempest  sub- 

18 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

sided  toward  nightfall,  and  the  Queen's  barge, 
with  part  of  her  fleet,  succeeded  in  putting  back 
into  the  harbor  of  Bellagio.  The  following  day 
a  more  prosperous  start  was  made,  and  poor 
Bianca  was  saved  from  the  terrors  of  the  deep 
to  make  another  perilous  journey,  this  time 
across  the  Alps  on  muleback,  by  that  fearful 
and  cruel  mountain  of  Nombray,  as  a  Venetian 
chronicler  described  the  Stelvio  Pass.  She 
finally  reached  Innsbruck,  where  she  was  joined, 
some  months  later,  by  her  tardy  and  cold- 
hearted  bridegroom. 

We  had  seen  Bianca's  handsome  bronze 
effigy  in  the  Franciscan  church  at  Innsbruck, 
and  so  felt  a  personal  interest  in  the  fair  young 
bride  who  had  been  launched  forth  upon  this 
matrimonial  venture  with  so  much  pomp  and 
ceremony,  her  head  crowned  with  diamonds  and 
pearls,  and  her  long  train  and  huge  sleeves  sup- 
ported by  great  nobles  of  Milan.  Foolish  and 
light-headed  the  young  Queen  doubtless  was, 
and  with  some  childish  habits  which  must  have 
been  annoying  to  her  grave  consort,  many  years 
her  senior, — Erasmo  Brasca,  the  Milanese 
envoy,  says  that  he  was  obliged  to  remonstrate 
with  her  for  the  silly  trick  of  eating  her  meals 
2  17 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


on  the  floor  instead  of  at  table, — and  yet  she 
was  a  warm-hearted,  affectionate  girl,  and  like 
many  another  princess  of  that  time,  she  de- 
served a  happier  fate  than  the  loveless  marriage 
that  had  been  arranged  for  her.  Our  memo- 
ries are  quite  fresh  about  Bianca  and  her  sor- 
rows, because  an  accommodating  tourist,  who 
had  Mrs.  Ady's  "Beatrice  d'Este"  with  her, 
has  loaned  it  to  us  for  reading  in  the  evenings — 
at  least  for  as  much  time  as  we  can  afford  to 
spend  in-doors  when  the  out-door  world  is  so 
beguiling. 

August  12th. 

The  man  of  the  party  and  the  children  set 
forth  early  this  morning  for  a  day's  fishing  on 
the  lake,  Walter  having  learned  from  a  loqua- 
cious boatman  that  trout  of  large  size,  fre- 
quently weighing  fifteen  pounds,  are  to  be 
caught  here.  We  women,  lacking  the  credulity 
of  the  true  brother  of  the  angle,  declined 
Walter's  invitation,  preferring  a  morning  at 
the  Villa  Carlotta  to  "the  calm,  quiet,  innocent 
recreation  of  angling,"  although  we  did  encour- 
age the  fisher-folk  by  telling  them  that  we  should 
return  from  sightseeing  with  keen  appetites  for 
their  trout. 

18 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

The  villa,  or  chateau,  which  we  visited 
to-day,  situated  on  a  hillside  directly  opposite 
Bellagio,  is  not  that  in  which  Maximilian  and 
Carlotta  passed  some  happy  years  before  the 
misfortunes  of  their  life  overtook  them.  That 
villa,  as  you  may  remember,  is  on  the  southern 
shore  of  Lake  Como,  at  Cernobbio.  The  fact 
of  there  being  two  Villas  Carlotta  on  the  same 
lake  is  somewhat  confusing,  as  will  appear  later. 
This  one,  whose  beautiful  hillside  gardens  reach 
from  Cadenabbia  to  Tremezzo,  our  informing 
little  local  guidebook  tells  us,  was  long  known 
as  the  Villa  Clerici,  later  as  the  Villa  Som- 
mariva,  and  finally,  failing  of  heirs  in  the 
Sommariva  line,  it  was  bought  by  the  Princess 
Albert  of  Prussia,  who  named  the  villa  after 
her  own  daughter  Charlotte. 

We  crossed  from  Bellagio  to  Cadenabbia  in 
one  of  the  little  boats  with  brown  awnings  and 
gay  cushions,  that  add  so  much  to  the  pictu- 
resqueness  of  this  fairy  lake,  and  made  our  way 
to  the  Villa  Carlotta,  passing  through  the  richly 
wrought  iron  gates  and  up  many  steps  to  the 
terraced  garden  where  a  fountain  throws  its 
feathery  spray  into  the  air.  We  were  all  three 
in  such  high  spirits  as  befit  a  party  of  pleasure 

19 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


seekers,  journeying  through  a  land  of  enchant- 
ment on  a  brilliantly  beautiful  day,  for  it  must 
be  admitted  that  in  a  downpour  of  rain  Lake 
Como  and  its  shores  are  like  any  other  places 
in  the  rain.  Miss  Cassandra,  who  is  gay  even 
under  dull  skies  and  overhanging  clouds,  is 
gayer  than  usual  to-day,  having  donned  a  hat 
in  which  she  takes  great  pride,  a  hat  of  her  own 
confection,  which  she  is  pleased  to  call  a 
" Merry  Widow,"  and  an  indecorously  merry 
widow  it  is,  so  riotous  is  it  in  its  garnishings  of 
chiffon,  tulle  and  feathers !  Thus  far  Lydia  has 
prevented  her  aunt  from  appearing,  in  public, 
in  her  cherished  hat;  but  here,  in  the  lake 
region,  where  the  sun  is  scorching  at  midday, 
she  rebels  against  Lydia 's  authority,  says  she 
has  no  idea  of  having  her  brains  broiled  out  for 
the  sake  of  keeping  up  a  dignified  and  conven- 
tional appearance,  and  that  this  hat  is  just  the 
thing  for  water-parties,  and  is  not  at  all  extreme 
compared  with  the  peach-basket,  the  immense 
picture  hat  with  its  gigantic  willow  plumes, 
the  grenadier,  and  other  fashionable  monstrosi- 
ties in  the  way  of  headgear.  Our  jaunt  to 
Cadenabbia  appeared  to  be  the  psychological 
moment  for  the  inauguration  of  the  merry 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

widow,  and  so  I  may  say,  truly  and  literally, 
that  our  Quaker  lady  is  in  fine  feather  to-day, 
her  head  crowned  with  nodding  plumes,  and  not 
a  qualm  of  conscience  anent  the  far-away  meet- 
ing and  its  overseers  to  cloud  her  pleasure. 

Whether  in  consequence  of  the  charms  of  the 
merry  widow,  or  because  of  a  certain  distinc- 
tive individuality  that  belongs  to  her,  Miss 
Cassandra  attracted  even  more  attention  than 
usual  this  morning.  While  we  were  admiring 
the  noble  Thorwaldsen  reliefs,  that  form  the 
frieze  of  the  entrance  hall,  and  the  exquisite 
marble  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  by  Canova,  that 
is  one  of  the  glories  of  the  Villa  Carlotta,  she, 
as  is  her  sociable  wont,  fell  into  conversation 
with  two  English-speaking  women  of  distin- 
guished appearance.  Before  we  left  the  chateau 
Miss  Cassandra  and  one  of  her  new  friends,  a 
stately,  beautiful  woman,  were  exchanging  con- 
fidences and  experiences  with  the  freedom  and 
intimacy  of  two  schoolgirls.  These  ladies,  whom 
Miss  Cassandra  is  pleased  to  call  the  American 
countesses, — it  having  transpired  in  the  course 
of  conversation  that  they  were  of  American 
birth,  Pennsylvanians  in  fact,  who  had  married 
titled  Italians, — were  courteous  to  us  all,  but 
21 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


they  simply  fell  in  love  with  our  Quaker  lady, 
whose  "thee  V  and  "thou's"  seemed  to  pos- 
sess a  magic  charm  for  them. 

Later  on  we  were  in  some  way  separated 
from  our  new  acquaintances  amid  the  intri- 
cacies of  these  winding  hillside  paths,  where 
one  may  walk  miles,  especially  if  the  guide  is 
clever  and  entertaining,  and  has  an  eye  to  future 
lira  bestowed  in  some  proportion  to  the  time 
spent  in  exploring  the  beauties  of  the  garden, 
and  to  the  fatigue  attending  the  tour.  Italian 
dames  of  high  degree,  even  if  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  been  born  in  America,  are  not  usually  as 
good  walkers  as  our  untitled  countrywomen. 
These  ladies,  being  no  exception  to  the  rule,  had 
probably  yielded  to  the  seductions  of  one  of  the 
rustic  seats,  placed  so  alluringly  under  the 
shade  of  fine  trees,  while  we  wandered  on 
from  path  to  path,  stopping  to  admire  an  avenue 
of  palms,  a  bamboo  plantation,  a  blue  Norway 
spruce,  a  huge  India-rubber  tree,  a  bed  of  home- 
like American  ferns,  or  a  clump  of  gorgeous 
rhododendrons,  for  the  trees  and  flowers  of  all 
climes  thrive  in  this  favored  spot.  A  party  of 
four  or  five  men  and  women  had  joined  us,  who 
talked  to  each  other  in  German,  occasionally 
bowing  to  us  and  smiling,  after  the  polite 
22 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAtTX 

fashion  of  foreigners,  when  the  guide  drew  our 
attention  to  some  rare  flower  or  plant,  or  to  a 
charming  vista  of  lake  and  mountain,  seen 
through  a  frame  of  interlacing  branches  and 
vines.  An  immense  bed  of  cactus,  on  a  sunny 
slope,  attracted  the  regard  and  admiration  of 
our  companions.  Miss  Cassandra,  who  had 
seen  the  cactus  in  its  glory  on  its  native  heath, 
recognized  the  strangers'  admiration  even  in  an 
unknown  language,  and  by  way  of  protest  expa- 
tiated in  her  enthusiastic  fashion  upon  the 
splendor  of  the  cactus  of  Mexico,  the  plumes 
of  her  hat  waving  in  unison  with  her  eloquent 
words  and  gestures,  while  Lydia  and  I  ex- 
changed amused  glances;  but  our  merriment 
was  destined  to  be  but  short  lived.  The  stran- 
gers, who  were  standing  near  us,  could  not,  of 
course,  get  the  drift  of  what  Miss  Cassandra 
was  saying,  but  one  of  the  party,  a  man  of 
strongly  marked  personality,  evidently  caught 
the  word  "Mexico,"  and  pricked  up  his  ears 
when  she  repeated  it.  In  an  instant,  a  heavy 
hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  while  an 
angry  voice  hissed  close  to  her  ear: 

"Mexican,  Mexican!  Pourquoi  avez-vous 
tue  1'Empereur  Maximilian?" 

Not   comprehending   this   sudden   arraign- 

23 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ment,  although  she  felt  the  heavy  hand  upon 
her  shoulder,  heard  the  angry  voice  at  her  side, 
and  saw  the  unfriendly  faces  that  surrounded 
her,  our  dear  Miss  Cassandra,  by  way  of  mak- 
ing matters  worse,  repeated  the  only  word  that 
she  had  caught: 

"Mexican !  Yes,  the  Mexican  cactus  is  much 
finer  than  this ! ' ' 

This  innocent  remark  seemed  to  irritate  the 
Austrian  beyond  all  bounds.  He  repeated  his 
question  in  French,  still  keeping  his  hand  on 
the  poor  lady's  shoulder  and  gazing  into  her 
frightened  face. 

"Why  did  you  kill  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian?" gesticulating  with  his  free  hand  and 
drawing  it  across  his  throat.  "Pourquoi  lui 
avez-vous  coupe  la  gorge? " 

Lydia  and  I  were  too  shocked  and  dismayed 
to  speak,  and  in  that  instant  of  terror  every 
sad  and  gruesome  disaster,  that  had  befallen 
unprotected  travellers  in  a  strange  land,  passed 
in  rapid  review  before  our  minds.  We  turned 
to  the  guide  for  help,  but  he  who  had  been  so 
voluble  and  instructive  in  botanical  lore,  in 
several  languages,  now  held  his  tongue  in  them 
all,  appearing  quite  dull  and  uninterested,  as 

24 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

if  having  no  understanding  or  part  in  the 
affair!  Suddenly  my  voice  came  to  me,  and  I 
cried  out  in  the  best  French  that  I  could  com- 
mand :  * '  The  Emperor  Maximilian  did  not  have 
his  throat  cut!  He  died  like  a  soldier!  He 
was  shot!" 

"Well,  then,"  exclaimed  the  Austrian,  still 
gesticulating  violently  with  one  hand  and  shak- 
ing Miss  Cassandra's  shoulder  with  the  other, 
"Why  did  you  shoot  him?" 

Not  having  improved  the  situation  by  my 
remark,  I  turned  again  to  the  guide,  when,  to 
our  immense  relief,  the  American  countesses, 
most  opportunely,  emerged  from  a  shaded  path. 
Miss  Cassandra's  pale,  frightened  face,  the 
despair  written  upon  Lydia's  and  mine,  the 
stranger's  excited  tone  and  gestures,  told  half 
the  story,  while  I  eagerly  explained: 

"These  people  are  Austrians.  They  think 
that  Miss  Cassandra  is  a  Mexican,  and  they 
hate  her  on  account  of  the  assassination  of  the 
Emperor  Maximilian.  She  is  frightened  to 
death,  but  she  does  not  understand  a  word  of 
what  it  is  all  about.  Do  explain!" 

The  stately  lady,  Countess  Z by  name, 

drew  near,  threw  her  arm  protectingly  around 

25 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Miss  Cassandra,  and  turning  to  the  Austrian, 
with  an  air  of  command,  ordered  him  to  take 
his  hand  off  her  shoulder,  explaining  in  German 
(German  had  never  sounded  so  sweet  to  my 
ears)  that  this  lady  was  an  American  citizen 
who  had  simply  travelled  in  Mexico.  The  man 
listened  and  withdrew  his  hand,  looking  decid- 
edly crestfallen  when  she  added:  ''The 
American  nation  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
most  unfortunate  sacrifice  of  your  young 
prince ;  in  fact,  the  government  at  Washington 
made  an  effort  to  avert  the  disaster.  His  death 
was  deplored  in  America,  and  you  must  remem- 
ber that  the  whole  affair  was  in  a  large  measure 
instigated  by  the  ambitious  designs  of  Napoleon 
III,  who  broke  faith  with  Maximilian,  failed  to 
send  him  the  troops  he  had  promised  him,  and 
cruelly  abandoned  him  to  his  fate." 

The  Austrian  bowed  low  and  humbly  apolo- 
gized, adding  something  in  an  undertone  about 
"Here  in  the  grounds  of  the  chateau  where 
Maximilian  and  Carlotta  had  once  lived,  seemed 
no  place  to  talk  about  Mexico." 

"You  are  quite  mistaken!"  exclaimed  the 
Countess.  "This  is  not  the  Villa  Carlotta  that 
once  belonged  to  Maximilian.  That  is  quite  at 

26 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

the  other  end  of  the  lake.  This  chateau,  long 
the  property  of  the  Sommariva  family,  passed 
in  1843  into  the  hands  of  the  Princess  Charlotte 
of  Prussia,  who  named  it  after  her  daughter, 
another  Carlotta,  and  I  hope  a  happier  one 
than  the  poor  Empress  Carlotta." 

Again  the  Austrian  bowed  and  apologized, 
this  time  to  Miss  Cassandra,  who,  from  his 
softened  voice  and  deferential  manner,  realized 
that  whatever  deadly  peril  had  menaced  her 
was  happily  averted,  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  Countess  Z 's  neck,  she  ex- 
claimed, "My  dear  countrywoman!  Thee  has 
the  face  of  an  angel  and,  like  an  angel,  thee  has 
brought  peace  to  our  troubled  minds.  But  for 
the  life  of  me  I  cannot  tell  what  I  have  done  to 
make  that  German  so  angry!" 

When  Miss  Cassandra  had  learned  what  was 
the  head  and  front  of  her  offending,  she  begged 
the  Countess  to  explain  that  she  was  a  woman 
of  peace,  that  war  was  abhorrent  to  her  and  all 
of  her  persuasion,  and  finally  she  quite  won  the 
Austrian's  heart  by  telling  him  that  she  had 
no  admiration  for  that  upstart  Bonaparte 
family  (Miss  Cassandra  is  nothing  if  not  aris- 
tocratic) ;  that  for  her  part  she  liked  old-estab- 

27 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


listed  dynasties,  like  the  Hapsburgs,  and  had 
always  considered  the  marriage  of  the  daughter 
of  a  long  line  of  kings  with  the  self-made 
Emperor  a  great  come  down  for  Maria  Louisa. 
Please  remember  that  these  are  Miss  Cassan- 
dra's sentiments,  not  mine,  and  how  the  dear 
Italian-American  lady  managed  to  translate 
them  into  good  German  and  keep  her  face 
straight  at  the  same  time,  I  know  not;  but  the 
Austrian  evidently  understood,  as  he  became 
more  profusely  apologetic  every  moment,  and 
well  he  might  be  for,  as  Miss  Cassandra  says, 
"No  amount  of  bowing  and  scraping  and  apolo- 
gizing could  make  up  for  the  fright  he  had 
given  us."  But  she  is  the  most  forgiving  of 
mortals,  as  you  know,  and  an  entente  cordials 
having  been  established,  through  the  mediation 
of  our  two  American-Italian  diplomatistes,  the 
two  recent  foes  were  soon  exchanging  cour- 
tesies and  scaling  mountain  paths  together, 
hand  in  hand,  smiling,  gesticulating,  quite  en 
rapport,  without  a  syllable  of  language  between 
them,  Miss  Cassandra's  nodding  plumes  seem- 
ing to  accentuate  her  expressions  of  peace  and 
good  will.  While  our  Quaker  lady  was  stepping 
off  gaily,  her  late  tormentor  now  her  willing 


AN  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  CHATEAUX 

captive,  Lydia,  usually  so  quiet  and  self-con- 
tained, suddenly  collapsed  upon  the  nearest  seat 
and  went  off  in  a  violent  attack  of  hysterics. 
One  of  the  Austrian  women  rushed  off  for  a 
glass  of  water,  while  the  countesses  ministered 
to  her,  in  true  story-book  fashion,  having  with 
them  a  bottle  of  sal  volatile  which  seems  to  be 
an  important  part  of  the  equipment  of  every 
well-appointed  foreign  lady.  And  what  do  you 
think  that  heartless  Lydia  said  between  her 
laughter  and  her  sobs?  "If  only  one  of  us  had 
had  a  kodak  with  us,  to  take  a  snapshot  of 
Aunt  Cassie  with  the  angry  Austrian  berating 
her!  Nobody  will  ever  believe  the  story  when 
we  get  back  to  America,  and  then  it  would  lose 
half  its  point  without  the  merry  widow!" 

Of  course  we  had  tales  of  adventure  to  relate 
when  reunited  with  our  family  this  evening. 
Walter  warmly,  and  I  believe  with  sincerity, 
expressed  his  regret  that  he  had  not  been  with 
us,  which  regret  was  probably  all  the  more 
heartfelt  because  he  had  failed  to  catch  the 
fifteen  pound  trout  or,  indeed,  I  may  add  in  all 
truthfulness,  trout  of  any  size  and  weight. 


II 

AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


PENSION  BEAU-SEJOUR,  STRESA,  Wednesday,  August  17th. 

WE  BEACHED  this  enchanting  spot  by  a  most 
circuitous  and  varied  route,  which  I  outline  for 
you,  as  you  may  be  coming  this  way  some  time. 
From  Bellagio  we  crossed  over  to  Menaggio,  on 
Monday  after  dejeuner,  where  we  took  an  elec- 
tric tram  which  brought  us  to  Porlezza  in  less 
than  an  hour.  Here  we  found  a  boat  awaiting 
us  in  which  we  enjoyed  a  two  hours'  sail  on 
beautiful  Lake  Lugano.  At  Lugano,  which  we 
reached  before  six  o'clock,  we  were  in  Switzer- 
land, as  we  learned  when  the  customs  officers 
visited  our  luggage,  with  no  benefit  to  them- 
selves and  little  disturbance  to  us,  and  again 
when  we  found  our  beds  at  the  hotel  supplied 
with  feather  counterpanes — and  I  may  venture 
to  say  it  with  all  my  love  for  Italy — by  a 
scrupulous  and  shining  cleanliness  that  belongs 
more  to  the  thrifty  Swiss  than  to  the  amiable 
and  less  energetic  Italians.  Lugano  is  full  of 

30 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


quaint  corners,  interesting  narrow  streets, 
market  wagons,  drawn  by  oxen,  and  stalls  and 
carts  on  all  sides,  filled  with  curios  and  native 
wares  that  would  tempt  the  most  blase  shop- 
per. Yesterday,  being  a  market  day  when 
the  peasants  come  in  from  the  surrounding 
country  in  their  ox  carts,  and  with  their  great 
panniers,  or  hottes,  on  their  backs,  we  found 
many  delightful  bits  for  our  kodaks.  The  chil- 
dren were  especially  interested  in  a  woman  who 
carried  a  pretty,  little  young  kid  in  her  pannier, 
instead  of  the  fruits  and  vegetables  that  are 
usually  to  be  seen  in  these  great  baskets,  and 
a  heavy  load  it  must  have  been!  But  these 
Swiss  and  Italian  women  are  burden-bearers 
from  early  childhood. 

We  needed  a  week  instead  of  a  day  and  night 
at  Lugano,  and  let  me  advise  you  and  Allan  not 
to  travel  on  schedule  time  when  you  make  your 
tour  through  these  lakes,  as  there  are  so  many 
delightful  siJe  trips  to  be  made.  Some  pleasant 
Americans,  whom  we  met  at  the  hotel  in 
Lugano,  told  us  that  a  day  or  two  spent  on  the 
summit  of  Monte  Generoso  is  well  worth  while, 
as  the  view  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe,  em- 
bracing as  it  does  the  chain  of  the  Alps,  the 

31 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Italian  lakes  and  the  vast  plains  of  Lombardy 
as  far  as  the  Apennines.  In  addition  to  all  this 
there  are  fine  woods  and  pasture  lands  upon 
this  mountain  top,  and  a  hotel  in  which  one  may 
sojourn  in  comfort,  if  comfort  is  to  be  con- 
sidered when  such  heavenly  views  are  to  be 
feasted  upon. 

We  quitted  Lugano  after  luncheon  yester- 
day, having  had  time  for  only  a  hurried  visit  to 
the  church  of  Santa  Maria  degli  Angeli  and  the 
famous  Luini  frescoes.  Another  charming  trip 
on  the  lovely  Lago  di  Lugano  brought  us  to 
Ponte  Tresa,  from  whence  we  journeyed  by  a 
steam  tram  through  an  enchanting  wild  wood 
country,  full  of  little  hills  and  rushing  stream- 
lets, to  Luino.  Do  you  wonder  that  Lisa  calls 
this  a  fairy  journey?  The  change  from  car  to 
boat  and  boat  to  car  takes  away  all  the  weari- 
ness of  travel,  and  the  varied  beauties  of  lake 
and  shore  make  this  an  ideal  trip,  especially 
as  we  found  ourselves  transferred  to  another 
boat  at  Luino  which  brought  us  straight  to 
fairyland,  here  at  Stresa.  The  lights  upon  the 
many  boats  on  the  lake  and  in  the  hotels  and 
villas  along  the  shore  gave  the  little  town  a 
gala  apearance,  as  if  it  were  celebrating  our 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


arrival,  as  Miss  Cassandra  suggested.  Later 
on  it  became  humiliatingly  evident  that  we  had 
not  been  expected,  our  boat  was  late,  the  cabs 
had  all  gone  away,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
we  secured  enough  conveyances  for  our  party. 

We  drove  many  miles,  so  it  seemed  to  us,  by 
winding  roads  up  a  steep  hillside  to  this  pen- 
sion, where  we  finally  found  light,  warmth,  wel- 
come and  good  beds,  of  which  last  we  were 
sorely  in  need.  By  morning  light  the  pension 
proves  itself  to  be  well  named  Beau-Sejour,  as 
it  is  delightfully  situated  on  a  hill  above  the 
lake,  with  a  garden,  which  slopes  down  to  the 
town,  full  of  oleanders  and  orange  and  lemon 
trees.  When  I  opened  the  jalousies  at  my  win- 
dow, what  should  I  see  but  dear,  snow-crested 
Monte  Kosa  and  the  rest  of  the  Alpine  chain, 
seeming  quite  near  in  this  crystal  atmosphere, 
a  perfect  background  for  the  picturesque  Bor- 
romean  Islands,  fairy  islets  in  a  silver  lake ! 

"I  really  think  that  Maggiore  is  more  beau- 
tiful than  Como,"  I  said,  reluctantly,  for  I  have 
heretofore  contended  that  Lake  Como  at  Bel- 
lagio  is  the  most  beautiful  place  on  the  face  of 
the  earth. 

''Take  what  goods  the  gods  provide  you, 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Zelphine,  and  don't  use  up  the  gray  matter  of 
your  brain  trying  to  find  out  which  of  these 
lakes  you  like  best,"  said  Walter  in  his  most 
judicial  tone. 

"Yes,  but  one  really  cannot  help  comparing 
these  two  lakes,  and  if  we  give  the  preference 
to  Maggiore  we  have  Mr.  Buskin  on  our  side, 
who  considers  the  scenery  of  Lake  Maggiore  to 
be  the  most  beautiful  and  enchanting  of  all  lake 
scenery,  so  we  read  in  a  pleasant  little  book  of 
Richard  Bagot  's  which  we  found  on  the  drawing- 
room  table,  yet  the  author  says  that  for  himself 
he  has  no  hesitation  in  giving  his  vote  in  favor 
of  the  Larian  Lake  for  beauty  of  scenery  and 
richness  of  historic  interest." 

Despite  his  philosophy  I  truly  think  that  the 
man  of  the  party  has  left  his  heart  at  Bellagio, 
as  I  heard  him  telling  a  brother  angler,  whom 
he  met  at  the  boat  landing,  how  fine  he  found 
the  fishing  there  and  that  he  doubted  the  sport 
being  as  good  at  Stresa — at  least  for  amateur 
fishermen.  The  associations  here  are  less  in- 
spiring than  those  of  Como,  the  presiding  genius 
of  Stresa  being  San  Carlo  Borromeo,  whose 
thirst  for  the  blood  of  heretics  gained  for  him 
the  title  of  Saint,  A  great  bronze  statue  at 

34 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


Arona  now  proclaims  his  zeal  for  the  Church. 
Miss  Cassandra,  who  has  an  optimistic  faith  in 
a  spark  of  the  divine  in  the  most  world-hard- 
ened saint  or  sinner,  reminds  me  of  Carlo  Bor- 
romeo's  heroic  devotion  to  the  sufferers  from 
famine  and  the  plague  at  Milan  in  1570  and 
1576.  So,  with  a  somewhat  gentler  feeling  in 
our  hearts  toward  "the  Saint,"  we  turned  our 
faces  toward  Isola  Bella  and  its  great  chateau, 
built  by  a  later  and  more  worldly-minded 
member  of  the  Borromean  family,  Count 
Vitaliano  Borromeo.  This  chateau,  which  from 
the  lake  side  apears  like  a  stronghold  of  ancient 
times,  is  fitly  named  the  Castello,  and  after 
admiring  its  substantial  stone  terrace  and  great 
iron  gates  we  were  prepared  for  something 
more  imposing  than  what  we  found  within.  The 
large  rooms,  with  their  modern  furniture  and 
paintings,  some  of  them  poor  copies  from  the 
old  masters,  were  strangely  out  of  harmony 
with  the  ancient  exterior  of  the  Castello;  but 
they  were  shown  to  us  with  great  pride  by  the 
custodian,  who  must  have  found  us  singularly 
unappreciative  and  lacking  in  enthusiasm,  even 
when  he  displayed  a  room  in  which  the  great 
Napoleon  had  once  slept.  When  Napoleon  was 

35 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


here,  and  why,  and  whether  he  was  here  at  all, 
does  not  concern  any  of  us  especially,  except 
Lydia,  who  having  a  turn  for  history  is  always 
determined  to  find  out  how,  why,  when,  and 
where.  I  am  glad  that  she  does  care,  as  her 
example  is  edifying  to  us  all,  especially  so  to 
Christine  and  Lisa,  who  follow  her  about  and 
ask  questions  to  their  hearts'  content,  which  she 
is  never  tired  of  answering.  The  garden,  we 
revelled  in,  and  found  it  hard  to  believe  that 
the  terrace,  which  rises  to  a  height  of  one 
.hundred  feet,  was  once  a  barren  rock  until 
Count  Borromeo  covered  it  with  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  orange,  olive,  and  lemon  trees,  cedars, 
oleanders,  roses,  camellias,  and  every  tree  and 
plant  that  you  can  think  of.  It  is  really  a 
bewilderingly  lovely  garden,  and  we  wandered 
through  its  paths  joyously  until  we  came  sud- 
denly upon  some  artificial  grottos  at  one  end 
overlooking  the  lake.  These  remarkable  crea- 
tions are  so  utterly  tasteless,  with  masses  of 
bristling  shellwork  and  crude,  ungainly  statues, 
that  we  wondered  how  anything  so  inartistic 
could  find  a  home  upon  Italian  soil.  The  chil- 
dren, however,  found  delight  in  the  hideous 
grottos,  were  sure  that  they  had  been  robbers' 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


dens,  and  fancied  they  heard  the  groans  of 
prisoners  issuing  from  their  cavernous  open- 
ings. They  were  so  fascinated,  as  children 
always  are  by  the  mysterious  and  unknown,  that 
nothing  but  the  pangs  of  hunger  and  promises 
of  luncheon  on  a  terrace  garden  overlooking 
the  lake  reconciled  them  to  leaving  the  garden 
and  the  grottos. 

We  tried  to  forget  the  monstrosities  of  the 
chateau  garden  and  to  remember  only  the 
beauty  and  the  rich  luxuriance  of  its  trees  and 
the  many  flowering  vines  that  clambered  all 
over  the  shellwork  terraces,  as  if  striving  to 
conceal  their  rococo  ugliness.  Nor  is  it  difficult 
to  forget  unsightly  objects  here,  when  we  have 
only  to  raise  our  eyes  to  behold  a  scene  of  sur- 
passing beauty, — Isola  Madre  and  Isola  del 
Pescatori  look  but  a  stone's  throw  from  us 
across  the  shining  water,  and  beyond  a  girdle  of 
snow  mountains  seems  to  encircle  the  lake,  our 
beloved  Monte  Eosa,  white  as  a  swan's  breast, 
dominating  them  all.  Despite  the  distracting 
beauty  of  the  outlook  from  our  cafe,  on  the 
terrace  of  a  very  indifferent  looking  hostel,  we 
enjoyed  our  luncheon  of  Italian  dishes,  crowned 
by  an  omelette  aux  confitures  of  such  superla- 

37 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


tive  excellence  that  even  my  inveterate  Ameri- 
can was  ready  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  the 
best  omelet  he  had  ever  eaten  anywhere. 

We  shall  need  a  whole  morning  for  Isola 
Madre,  whose  gardens  are  said  to  be  even  more 
beautiful  than  those  of  Isola  Bella.  The  sport- 
ing tastes  of  the  man  of  the  party  naturally 
draw  him  toward  the  allurements  of  Isola  dei 
Pescatori,  but  thither  we  shall  decline  to  accom- 
pany him,  for  picturesque  as  it  apears  from  the 
shore,  it  is,  on  a  more  intimate  acquaintance, 
said  to  rival  in  unsavoriness  the  far-famed  odors 
of  the  city  of  Cologne. 

OETA,  August  19th. 

From  Stresa  we  made  a  short  detour,  in 
order  to  have  a  day  and  night  here  on  the  Lago 
d'Orta,  which  although  comparatively  near 
Lake  Maggiore  is  not  often  included  in  the 
itinerary  of  the  fast  traveling  tourist,  who 
usually  hurries  to  Arona,  Stresa,  and  Pallanza, 
which,  beautiful  as  they  are,  lack  something  of 
the  restful  charm  of  this  miniature  lake  set  in 
the  midst  of  a  circle  of  well-wooded  hills.  After 
Como  and  Maggiore,  which  are  like  inland  seas, 
the  Lago  d'Orta  with  its  pretty  island  of  San 
Giulio,  all  so  small  that  one  may  see  the  whole 
picture  at  a  glance,  is  indescribably  lovely.  The 

38 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


waters  here  are  said  to  be  of  a  deeper  blue 
than  anywhere  else  in  Italy,  probably  because 
the  lake  is  fed  from  springs  which  issue  from 
its  rocky  bed.  The  whole  town  of  Orta,  as  well 
as  the  lake,  is  a  blaze  of  color  with  the  gay 
awnings  of  its  many  loggie,  its  masses  of  scarlet 
and  pink  geraniums,  cactus  and  oleanders,  its 
fruit  stalls  laden  with  melons,  peaches  and 
tomatoes,  or  poma  d'oro,  and  its  blue  sky  over 
all.  We  cannot  imagine  Orta  under  any  but  a 
clear  sky,  as  our  day  here  has  been  one  of 
dazzling  brilliancy.  But  it  was  not  solely  for 
its  beauty  that  the  man  of  the  party  brought  us 
to  Orta,  as  I  discovered  when  I  looked  over  a 
little  local  guidebook  last  night,  and  learned 
that  the  Lago  d'Orta  is  famous  for  its  fish,  and 
abounds  in  trout  of  large  size,  pike,  perch,  and 
the  agoni,  a  delicate  little  fish  for  which  Lake 
Como  is  also  noted.  After  glancing  over  this 
illuminating  guidebook,  and  recalling  the  fact 
that  the  catch  at  Stresa  had  been  poor  the  day 
before,  we  were  not  surprised  to  hear  arrange- 
ments being  made  for  an  early  start  this  morn- 
ing. After  reading  aloud  some  extracts  from 
the  guidebook,  Miss  Cassandra  said,  quite  seri- 
ously : 

"For  ways  that  are  dark  and  tricks  that  are 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


vain  commend  me  to  a  fisherman  or  hunter. 
With  all  that  Izaak  Walton  was  pleased  to  say 
about  fishing  being  'a  calm,  quiet,  innocent 
recreation, '  I  have  known  the  best  of  men,  even 
as  good  men  as  Walter,  descend  to  duplicity 
and  even  to  prevarication  when  it  eame  to  a 
question  of  fish  or  game.  Not  that  I  regret  for 
a  moment  Walter's  bringing  us  here.  Orta  is 
so  beautiful  that  the  end  justifies  the  means; 
but  he  might  have  told  us  why  we  were  coming. ' ' 
Despite  the  innate  and  total  depravity  of 
fisher  folk,  I  yielded  to  Walter's  and  the  chil- 
dren's persuasions  and  joined  the  fishing  party 
this  morning,  and  a  delightful  day  I  had,  seated 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat  under  one  of  the  little 
canopies  that  you  see  in  all  the  pictures  of  this 
region.  Here,  well  screened  from  the  sun,  with 
books  and  work,  and  the  lovely  lake  and  shore 
to  gaze  upon,  the  hours  passed  so  quickly  that  I 
was  surprised  when  we  were  told  that  it  was 
time  to  land  on  the  Island  of  San  Giulio  for  our 
noon  dejeuner.  I  was  in  the  midst  of  relating 
the  interesting  experiences  of  the  missionary 
priest  Julius,  who  is  said  to  have  founded  a 
church  here  as  early  as  390,  when  we  were  near- 
ing  the  lovely  little  island  named  for  him.  The 

40 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


children  were  naturally  delighted  with  the 
priest's  fertility  of  resource,  which,  like  that 
of  the  mother  in  their  favorite  "  Swiss  Family 
Robinson,"  was  equal  to  every  occasion. 

Having  resolved  to  found  a  sanctuary  upon 
the  island  whose  solitary  beauty,  as  it  rested 
upon  the  shining  bosom  of  the  lake,  appealed  to 
him  as  it  does  to  us  to-day,  and  finding  no  boat- 
men upon  the  shore  willing  to  convey  him 
thither,  on  account  of  the  hideous  monsters, 
dragons,  and  serpents  of  huge  size  then  inhabit- 
ing the  place,  good  Julius,  nothing  daunted  by 
so  trifling  an  inconvenience  as  the  lack  of  a 
boat,  used  his  long  cloak  as  a  sail,  and  his  staff 
as  a  rudder,  and  thus  equipped  allowed  himself 
to  be  blown  across  to  the  island. 

"Of  course,  we  know  that  there  is  nothing 
new  under  the  sun,  but  who  would  have  thought 
of  finding  traces  of  the  first  aeroplane  here,  in 
this  quiet  spot,  far  from  the  haunts  of  men  f ' ' 

This  from  the  man  of  the  party,  while  Lisa 
exclaimed  impatiently:  "Now,  don't  stop  the 
story!  What  did  the  good  priest  do  when  he 
landed  on  the  island?  Did  he  kill  the  beasts 
with  his  big  stick?" 

"We  never  heard  of  the  'big  stick'  flourish- 

41 


IN  CHATEAU  LANB 


ing  among  these  lakes,"  said  Walter,  as  he 
wound  up  his  line,  and  I  explained  to  the  chil- 
dren that  the  hideous  monsters  fled  before  the 
beautiful  face  of  the  messenger  of  peace  and 
swam  across  the  water  to  the  mainland.  A  de- 
lightful confirmation  of  the  story,  the  children 
found  in  the  church,  where  they  were  shown  a 
huge  bone  that  belonged  to  one  of  these  self- 
same monsters. 

"Very  like  a  whale,"  said  Walter,  while  we 
were  further  edified  by  a  sight  of  the  silver 
and  crystal  shrine  under  which  repose  the  bones 
of  St.  Julius  removed  from  the  little  old  church 
to  this  one  of  the  seventh  century,  which  is  a 
perfect  miniature  basilica.  This  was  explained 
to  us  by  a  priest,  in  Italianized  French  of  the 
most  mongrel  description,  translated  by  me  and 
listened  to  by  Christine  and  Lisa  with  eager 
faces  and  wide-open  eyes. 

When  we  related  our  experiences  to  Miss 
Cassandra,  who  had  in  our  absence  visited  the 
twenty  chapels  on  the  mainland  erected  in  honor 
of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  she  shook  her  head, 
knowingly,  and  said,  "Lydia  and  I  have  heard 
a  great  many  wonderful  tales,  too,  but  it  is 
worth  everything  to  be  a  child  and  ready  to 
swallow  anything  from  a  gumdrop  to  a  whale." 

42 


AN  ISLAND  CHATEAU 


The  little  girls  take  so  much  more  interest 
in  churches  and  shrines  than  we  had  expected 
that  we  are  half  regretting  our  plan  to  leave 
them  in  a  French  school  in  Lausanne  while  we 
make  our  tour  among  the  Chateaux  of  the  Loire. 
I  can  hear  you  say,  "Why  not  take  them  to 
Tours,  for  the  French  there?"  We  know  that 
the  French  of  Tours  is  exquisite,  but  they  have 
had  quite  as  much  travel  as  is  good  for  them, 
and  then  they  have  little  friends  at  the  school 
in  Lausanne  whom  they  wish  to  join.  "And 
after  all,"  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  "American 
French  can  always  be  spotted,  no  matter  how 
good  it  may  be."  We  were  very  much  amused 
over  the  criticism  of  a  little  American  boy  who 
had  been  educated  in  Italy.  He  said  of  an  Eng- 
lish lady's  correct  and  even  idiomatic  Italian, 
"Yes,  it's  all  right;  but  she  doesn't  speak  in 
the  right  tune. ' '  We  have  so  many  tunes  in  our 
own  language  that  we  are  less  particular  than 
the  French  and  Italians,  who  treat  theirs  with 
the  greatest  respect. 

To-morrow  we  leave  this  charming  spot  with 
great  reluctance.  We  shall  doubtless  find 
architectural  beauty  in  Touraine,  but  we  shall 
miss  the  glorious  mountain  and  lake  views  and 
these  indescribable  atmospheric  effects  that  we 

43 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


delight  in.  But,  as  the  man  of  the  party  says, 
with  masculine  directness,  ' '  Having  started  out 
to  see  the  Chateaux  of  the  Loire,  had  we  not 
better  push  on  to  Touraine?" 

You  cannot  appreciate  the  full  magna- 
nimity of  this  advice  without  realizing  that 
Orta  is  a  place  above  all  others  to  please  a 
man's  fancy,  and  that  the  fishing  is  exception- 
ally good.  Miss  Cassandra  has  taken  back  her 
caustic  expressions  with  regard  to  the  devious 
ways  of  fisher  folk,  or  at  least  of  this  especial 
fisherman,  and  so,  in  good  humor  with  one 
another  and  with  the  world  in  general,  we  set 
forth  for  Lausanne,  by  Domodossola  and  the 
Simplon.  We  shall  have  a  Sunday  in  Lausanne 
to  drink  in  Calvinism  near  its  source;  Monday 
we  arrange  about  the  children's  school,  and  set 
forth  for  Touraine  on  Tuesday,  stopping  in 
Geneva  for  a  day  and  night. 


Ill 

AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 


GENEVA,  August  24th. 

LIKE  Hawthorne,  our  first  feeling  upon 
returning  to  Switzerland,  after  our  sojourn  in 
Italy,  was  of  a  certain  chill  and  austerity  in  the 
atmosphere,  a  lack  of  heartiness,  in  sharp  con- 
trast to  the  rich  feast  of  beauty,  the  warm  color 
and  compelling  charm  of  Italian  towns.  This 
impression  was  accentuated  by  the  fact  that  it 
rained  yesterday  at  Lausanne  and  that  we 
reached  Geneva  in  the  rain.  We  had  one  clear 
day,  however,  at  Lausanne,  upon  which  we  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  Chillon,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  Kinder.  Miss  Cassandra  insisted  that  we 
should  take  the  children  to  see  this  most 
romantic  and  beautiful  spot,  because,  she  says, 
it  is  out  of  fashion  nowadays,  like  Niagara  Falls 
at  home,  and  that  it  is  a  part  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion to  see  the  Castle  of  Chillon  and  read 
Byron's  poem  on  the  spot,  all  of  which  we  did. 
It  is  needless  to  tell  you  that  Christine  and  Lisa 

45 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


considered  this  day  on  the  lake  and  in  and  about 
Chillon  the  most  interesting  educational  expe- 
rience of  their  lives.  We  were  glad  to  leave 
them  at  the  pension  in  Lausanne  with  a  memory 
so  pleasant  as  this,  and  for  ourselves  we  carry 
away  with  us  a  picture  of  the  grim  castle  reach- 
ing out  into  the  blue  lake  and  beyond  that 
almost  unrivalled  line  of  Alpine  peaks,  white 
and  shining  in  the  sun.  After  this  there  came  a 
day  of  rain,  in  which  we  set  forth  for  Geneva. 

"  We  have  not  seen  him  for  three  days  until 
to-day,"  said  the  gargon  who  waited  on  us  at 
the  terrace  cafe  of  the  hotel  this  morning,  with 
a  fond  glance  toward  the  snowy  crest  of  Mont 
Blanc  rising  above  enveloping  clouds.  It  would 
not  have  occurred  to  us  to  call  this  exquisite 
pearl  and  rose  peak  Mm,  as  did  the  gargon, 
who  was  proud  of  his  English,  and  much  surer 
of  his  genders  than  we  ever  hope  to  be  in  his 
language,  or  any  other  save  our  own;  but  we 
were  ready  to  echo  his  lament  after  a  day  of 
clouds  and  rain.  To  be  in  these  picturesque  old 
towns  upon  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva, 
and  not  to  see  Mont  Blanc  by  sunlight,  moon- 
light, and  starlight  is  a  grievance  not  lightly  to 
be  borne;  but  when  a  glory  of  sunshine  dis- 
pelled the  clouds  and  Mont  Blanc  threw  its 

40 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

misty  veil  to  the  winds  and  stood  forth  beau- 
tiful as  a  bride,  in  shining  white  touched  with 
palest  pink,  we  could  only,  like  the  woman  of 
the  Scriptures,  forget  our  sorrows  for  joy  that 
such  a  day  was  born  to  the  world. 

Days  like  this  are  rare  in  the  Swiss  autumn, 
and  with  jealous  care  we  planned  its  hours, 
carefully  balancing  the  claims  of  Vevey,  Yvoire, 
picturesque  as  an  Italian  hillside  town,  Ferney, 
and  Coppet.  This  last  drew  us  irresistibly  by 
its  associations  with  Madame  de  Stael  and  her 
brilliant  entourage,  and  we  decided  that  this 
day  of  days  should  be  dedicated  to  a  tour  along 
the  Cote  Suisse  of  the  lake,  stopping  at  Nyon 
for  a  glance  at  its  sixteenth  century  chateau 
and  returning  in  time  to  spend  a  long  afternoon 
at  Coppet.  The  only  drawback  to  this  delight- 
ful plan  was  that  this  is  Wednesday,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  friendly  little  guidebook  that  informs 
sojourners  in  Geneva  how  to  make  the  best  of 
their  days,  Thursday  is  the  day  that  the  Chateau 
de  Stael  is  open  to  visitors.  Learning,  however, 
that  the  d'Haussonvilles  were  not  at  present  in 
residence,  we  concluded  to  take  our  courage, 
and  some  silver,  in  our  hands,  trusting  to  its 
seductive  influence  upon  the  caretaker.  After 
a  short  stroll  through  the  quaint  old  town  of 

47 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Coppet  we  ascended  the  steep  hill  that  leads  to 
the  Chateau  de  Stael.  As  we  drew  near  the 
entrance  gate,  Walter,  manlike,  retired  to  the 
rear  of  the  procession,  saying  that  he  would 
leave  all  preliminaries  to  the  womenfolk,  as 
they  always  knew  what  to  say  and  generally 
managed  to  get  what  they  wanted. 

Fortune  favored  us.  We  noticed  several 
persons  were  grouped  together  in  the  court- 
yard, and  pushing  open  the  gate,  which  was  not 
locked,  Lydia,  who  if  gentle  of  mien  is  bold  of 
heart,  inquired  in  her  most  charmingly  hesi- 
tating manner  and  in  her  Sunday  best  French 
whether  we  should  be  permitted  to  enter.  Upon 
this  a  man  separated  himself  from  the  group 
and  approaching  us  asked  if  we  very  much 
wished  to  see  the  chateau,  for  if  we  did  he  was 
about  to  conduct  some  friends  through  the 
premises  and  would  be  pleased  to  include  us  in 
the  party. 

"When  the  French  wish  to  be  polite  how 
gracefully  they  accord  a  favor!"  exclaimed 
Lydia,  turning  to  Walter,  the  joy  of  conquest 
shining  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"Yes,  and  I  kept  out  of  it  for  fear  of  spoil- 
ing sport.  Any  caretaker  who  could  withstand 

48 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

the  combined  charms  of  you  three  must  be  val- 
iant indeed!  I  noticed  that  Zelphine  put  Miss 
Cassandra  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle ;  she  is 
always  a  winner  even  if  she  isn't  up  to  the  lan- 
guage, and  you  did  the  talking.  Zelphine  cer- 
tainly knows  how  to  marshal  her  forces ! ' ' 

We  all  laughed  heartily  over  Walter's  effort 
to  make  a  virtue  of  his  own  masterly  inactivity, 
and  Miss  Cassandra  asked  him  if  he  had  ever 
applied  for  a  diplomatic  mission,  as  we  gaily 
entered  the  spacious  courtyard. 

We  noticed,  as  we  passed  on  toward  the 
chateau,  the  old  tower  of  the  archives,  which 
doubtless  contains  human  documents  as  inter- 
esting as  those  published  by  Count  Othenin 
d'Haussonville  about  his  pretty  great-grand- 
mother when  she  was  jeune  fille  tres  coquette, 
with  numerous  lovers  at  her  feet.  Behind  the 
close-barred  door  of  the  tower  the  love  letters 
of  Edward  Gibbon  to  the  village  belle  were  pre- 
served, among  them  that  cold  and  cruel  epistle 
in  which  for  prudential  reasons  he  renounced 
the  love  of  Mademoiselle  Curchod,  whom  he 
would  "always  remember  as  the  most  worthy, 
the  most  charming  of  her  sex." 

Count  d'Haussonville,  who  now  owns  Cop- 

4  40 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


pet,  our  guide  informed  us,  is  not  the  grandson 
of  Madame  de  Stael,  as  Lydia  and  I  had 
thought,  but  her  great-grandson.  Albertine  de 
Stael  married  Victor,  Due  de  Broglie,  and  their 
daughter  became  the  wife  of  Count  Othenin 
d'Haussonville,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for 
the  story  of  the  early  love  affair  of  his  ances- 
tress with  the  historian  of  the  Eoman  Empire. 
The  sympathies  of  the  reader  of  this  touching 
pastoral  are  naturally  with  the  pretty  Swiss 
girl,  who  seems  to  have  been  sincerely  attached 
to  her  recreant  lover,  although  she  had  suffi- 
cient pride  to  conceal  her  emotions.  If  Edward 
Gibbon  found  excuse  for  himself  in  the  reported 
tranquillity  and  gayety  of  Mademoiselle 
Curchod,  we,  for  our  part,  are  glad  that  she 
did  not  wear  her  heart  upon  her  sleeve,  there 
being  other  worlds  to  conquer.  Indeed,  even 
then,  several  suitors  were  at  Mademoiselle 
Curchod 's  feet,  among  them  a  young  parson, — 
her  father  being  a  pastor,  young  parsons  were 
her  legitimate  prey, — and  still  greater  triumphs 
were  reserved  for  her  in  the  gay  world  of  Paris 
which  she  was  soon  to  enter.  As  dame  de 
compagnie,  Mademoiselle  Curchod  journeyed 
with  Madame  Vermenoux  to  the  French  capital, 

60 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

and  carried  off  oae  of  her  lovers,  M.  Necker, 
under  her  very  eye*.  The  popular  tradition  is 
that  Madame  Vennenoux  was  well  tired  of  M. 
Necker  and  of  Mademoiselle  Curchod  also,  and 
so  cheerfully  gave  them  both  her  blessing,  re- 
marking with  malice  as  well  as  wit:  "They 
will  bore  each  other  so  much  that  they  will  be 
provided  with  an  occupation." 

It  soon  transpired  that  M.  and  Mme.  Necker, 
far  from  boring  each  other,  were  quite  unfash- 
ionably  happy  in  their  married  life,  some  part 
of  which  was  passed  at  Coppet,  which  M.  Necker 
bought  at  the  time  of  his  dismissal  from  office. 

An  hour  of  triumph  came  to  Madame  Necker 
later  when  Edward  Gibbon  visited  her  in  her 
husband's  home  in  Paris.  After  being  hos- 
pitably invited  to  supper  by  M.  Necker,  the 
historian  related  that  the  husband  composedly 
went  off  to  bed,  leaving  him  tete-a-tete,  with  his 
wife,  adding,  "That  is  to  treat  an  old  lover  as 
a  person  of  little  consequence." 

The  love  affairs  of  the  Swiss  pastor 's 
daughter,  her  disappointments,  her  triumphs, 
and  her  facility  for  turning  from  lost  Edens  to 
pastures  new,  would  be  of  little  interest  to-day 
did  they  not  reveal  certain  common  character- 
si 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


istics  possessed  by  the  lively  blue-stocking, 
Susanne  Curchod,  and  her  passionate,  intense 
daughter,  Anne  Germaine  de  Stael.  The  well- 
conducted  Madame  Necker,  whose  fair  name 
was  touched  by  no  breath  of  scandal,  possessed 
all  her  life  a  craving  for  love,  devotion,  and 
admiration,  which  were  accorded  to  her  in  full 
measure.  With  the  mother,  passion  was  re- 
strained by  fine  delicacy  and  reserve,  and  her 
heart  was  satisfied  by  a  congenial  marriage, 
while  the  impetuous  and  ill-regulated  nature  of 
Germaine  was  thrown  back  upon  itself  by  an 
early  and  singularly  ill-assorted  union. 

With  many  thoughts  of  the  two  interesting 
women  who  once  lived  in  the  chateau  we  passed 
through  the  doorway  into  the  hall,  on  whose 
right-hand  side  is  a  colossal  statue  of  Louis 
Seize,  while  on  the  left  are  portraits  of  several 
generations  of  d'Haussonvilles.  On  the  stair- 
way are  numerous  genealogical  charts  and 
family  trees  of  the  Neckers,  doubtless  reaching 
back  to  Attila,  if  not  to  Adam,  for  strange  as 
it  may  seem  the  great  Swiss  financier  was  as 
much  addicted  to  vain  genealogies  and  heraldic 
quarterings  as  a  twentieth  century  American. 

It  was  in  the  long  library,  with  its  many 

52 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

windows  opening  out  upon  a  sunny  terrace,  that 
we  came  upon  traces  of  the  presiding  genius  of 
the  chateau.  Here  are  Madame  de  Stae'Ps  own 
books,  the  cases  unchanged,  we  were  assured, 
except  by  the  addition  of  new  publications  from 
time  to  time.  On  a  table,  among  the  most  treas- 
ured possessions  of  the  devoted  daughter,  is  the 
strong  box  of  M.  Necker  in  which  he  kept  his 
accounts  with  the  French  Government  when  he 
sought  to  stem  the  tide  of  financial  disaster  that 
was  bearing  the  monarchy  to  its  doom. 

From  this  room  instinct  with  the  atmosphere 
of  culture,  a  fit  setting  for  the  profoundly  intel- 
lectual woman  who  inhabited  it,  we  stepped 
through  one  of  the  long  windows  to  the  terrace 
which  commands  a  glorious  view.  In  the  dis- 
tance, yet  not  seeming  very  far  away  in  this 
clear  air,  is  that  well-known  group  of  which 
Mont  Blanc  is  the  central  peak,  with  the  Dent 
du  Geant  and  the  Aiguilles  du  Glacier  and 
D'Argentiere  standing  guard  over  its  crystal- 
line purity.  We  had  seen  Mont  Blanc  and  its 
attendant  mountains  from  the  heights  of  Mont 
Revard,  and  knew  its  majestic  beauty  as  seen 
from  Chamounix ;  but  we  all  agreed  that  noth- 
ing could  be  lovelier  than  these  white  peaks  ris- 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ing  above  the  sapphire  lake,  with  the  blue  cloud- 
flecked  sky  over  all.  Yet,  with  this  perfect 
picture  spread  before  her,  Madame  de  Stael 
longed  for  the  very  gutters  of  Paris,  its  sights 
and  sounds,  which  were  inseparably  associated 
in  her  mind  with  the  joyous  chatter  of  the  salon 
to  which  she  had  been  introduced  at  an  age 
when  most  children  are  in  the  nursery.  Seated 
upon  a  high  chair  in  her  mother's  salon,  little 
Anne  Germaine  Necker  listened  eagerly  to  the 
discourses  of  the  great  men  of  her  day.  Listen- 
ing was  not  destined  to  be  her  role  in  later 
years ;  but  to  pace  up  and  down  the  long  draw- 
ing room  at  Coppet,  with  the  invariable  green 
branch  in  her  beautiful  hands,  uttering  words 
that  charmed  such  guests  as  Schlegel,  Sismondi, 
Bonstetten  of  Geneva  and  Chateaubriand.  It 
was  Chateaubriand  who  said  that  the  two  mag- 
ical charms  of  Coppet  were  the  conversation  of 
Madame  de  Stael  and  the  beauty  of  Madame 
Recamier. 

Madame  de  Stael 's  library  opens  into  her 
bedroom,  and  beyond  this  is  the  charming  little 
apartment  dedicated  to  Madame  Recamier. 
This  small,  dainty  room,  with  hand-made  paper 
upon  its  walls  of  delicate  green  decorated  with 

54 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

flowers  and  birds,  seemed  a  fit  setting  for  the 
flower-like  beauty  who  occupied  it,  a  lily  that 
preserved  its  purity  amid  the  almost  incredible 
corruption  of  the  social  life  of  the  period. 

Madame  de  Stael's  own  bedroom  is  filled 
with  pictures,  and  souvenirs  of  the  vie  intime 
of  one  who  with  all  her  faults  was  dowered  with 
a  limitless  affection  for  her  family  and  friends. 
Here  is  a  marble  bust  of  the  beautiful  daughter 
Albertine  in  her  girlhood,  and  on  the  right  of 
Madame  de  Stael's  bed  is  a  portrait  of  her 
mother,  in  water  color  painted  during  her  last 
illness,  the  fine,  delicate  old  face  framed  in  by 
a  lace  cap.  On  the  margin  of  this  picture  is 
written,  "Elle  m'aimera  toujours."  Under 
this  lovely  water  color  is  the  same  picture  re- 
produced in  black  and  white,  beneath  which 
some  crude  hand  has  written  in  English  the 
trite  phrase,  "Not  lost,  but  gone  before." 

In  a  glass  case  are  Madame  de  StaePs 
India  shawls,  which,  like  Josephine  de  Beau- 
harnais  and  other  women  of  the  period,  she 
seems  to  have  possessed  the  art  of  wearing  with 
grace  and  distinction.  One  of  these  shawls 
appears  in  the  familiar  portrait  by  David,  which 
is  in  a  small  library  or  living  room  au  premier; 

55 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


this  we  reached  by  climbing  many  stairs.  It 
is  quite  evident  that  David  was  not  in  sympathy 
with  his  sitter,  as  in  this  painting  he  has  soft- 
ened no  line  of  the  heavy  featured  face,  and 
illumined  with  no  light  of  intellect  a  counte- 
nance that  in  conversation  was  so  transformed 
that  Madame  de  Stael 's  listeners  forgot  for  the 
moment  that  she  was  not  beautiful. 

Quite  near  the  portrait  of  the  exile  of 
Coppet,  as  she  was  pleased  to  call  herself,  is 
one  of  Baron  de  Stael  Holstein,  in  court  cos- 
tume, finished,  elegant,  handsome  perhaps,  but 
quite  insignificant.  It  is  surely  one  of  the 
ironies  of  fate  that  the  Baron  de  Stael  is  only 
remembered  to-day  as  the  husband  of  a  woman 
whom  he  seems  to  have  looked  upon  as  his 
social  inferior.  In  this  living  room  is  a  large 
portrait  of  M.  Necker,  indeed,  no  room  is  with- 
out a  portrait  or  bust  of  the  idolized  father,  and 
here,  looking  strangely  modern  among  faces  of 
the  First  Empire,  is  a  charming  group  of  the 
four  daughters  of  the  Count  d'Haussonville,  the 
present  owner  of  Coppet.  Several  portraits 
and  busts  there  are,  in  the  drawing  room,  of 
beautiful  Albertine  de  Stael,  wife  of  Victor,  Due 
de  Broglie,  whom  Madame  de  Stael  says  that 
she  loved  for  his  tenderness  and  sympathy. 

60 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

In  this  spacious,  homelike  drawing  room, 
furnished  in  the  style  of  the  First  Empire,  and 
yet  not  too  fine  for  daily  use,  we  could  imagine 
Madame  de  Stael  surrounded  by  her  brilliant 
circle  of  friends,  many  of  whom  had  been,  like 
herself,  banished  from  the  Paris  that  they  loved. 
She  is  described  by  Madame  Vigee  Lebrun,  and 
other  guests,  as  walking  up  and  down  the  long 
salon,  conversing  incessantly,  or  sitting  at  one 
of  the  tables  writing  notes  and  interjecting  pro- 
found or  brilliant  thoughts  into  the  conversa- 
tion. "Her  words,"  added  Madame  Lebrun, 
"have  an  ardor  quite  peculiar  to  her.  It  is 
impossible  to  interrupt  her.  At  these  times  she 
produces  on  one  the  effect  of  an  improvisa- 
trice." 

Ohlenschlager  described  the  chatelaine  of 
Coppet  as  "living  in  an  enchanted  castle,  a 
queen  or  a  fairy,"  albeit  of  rather  substantial 
proportions,  it  must  be  admitted,  "her  wand 
being  the  little  green  branch  that  her  servant 
placed  each  day  by  her  plate  at  table."  The 
time  of  the  Danish  poet's  visit  was  that  golden 
period  in  the  life  of  the  chateau  when  it  was 
the  rendezvous  of  many  of  the  savants  of 
Germany  and  Geneva.  Into  the  charmed  circle, 
at  this  time,  entered  Madame  Kriidener,  that 

67 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


strangely  puzzling  combination  of  priestess  and 
coquette,  whose  Greuze  face  and  mystic  revela- 
tions touched  the  heart  of  an  Emperor.  Stand- 
ing in  the  long  salon,  which  contains  many  por- 
traits and  souvenirs  of  the  habitues  of  Coppet, 
we  realized  something  of  the  life  of  those  bril- 
liant days,  when  the  walls  echoed  to  what  Bon- 
stettin  called  "  prodigious  outbursts  of  wit  and 
learning,"  and  upon  whose  boards  classic 
dramas  and  original  plays  were  acted,  often 
very  badly,  by  the  learned  guests.  Eosalie  de 
Constant  wrote  that  she  trembled  for  her  cousin 
Benjamin 's  success  in  Mahomet,  which  role  he 
accepted  with  confidence,  while  beneath  the  play 
at  life  and  love  the  great  tragedy  of  a  passion- 
ate human  soul  is  played  on  to  the  end,  for  this 
is  the  period  of  storm  and  stress,  of  alternate 
reproaches  and  caresses,  from  which  Benjamin 
Constant  escaped  finally  to  the  side  of  his  less 
exacting  Charlotte. 

After  spending  some  weeks  in  the  company 
of  a  hostess  who  could  converse  half  the  day 
and  most  of  the  night  with  no  sign  of  fatigue, 
it  is  not  strange  that  Benjamin  Constant  some- 
times found  himself  wearied  by  the  mental 
activity  of  Coppet,  where  "more  intellect  was 

58 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

dispensed  in  one  day  than  in  one  year  in  many 
lands,"  or  that  Bonstettin  said  that  after  a 
visit  to  the  chateau,  "One  appreciated  the  con- 
versation of  insipid  people  who  made  no  de- 
mand upon  one's  intellect."  And  brilliant  as 
was  that  of  the  hostess,  her  guests  doubtless 
hailed  as  a  relief  from  mental  strain  occasional 
days  when  she  became  so  much  absorbed  in  her 
writing  that  she  ceased  for  a  while  to  converse, 
and  they  were  free  to  wander  at  will  through 
the  beautiful  park,  or  to  gather  around  the 
Eecamier  sofa,  still  to  be  seen  in  one  corner  of 
the  salon,  where  the  lovely  Juliette  held  her 
court. 

Madame  Eecamier,  like  Benjamin  Constant, 
Sismondi,  and  many  other  distinguished  per- 
sons who  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Napo- 
leon, found  what  seems  to  us  a  gilded  exile  at 
Coppet  in  the  home  of  the  Emperor's  arch- 
enemy. The  close  friendship  of  Germaine  de 
Stael  and  Juliette  Eecamier,  even  cemented  as 
it  was  by  the  common  bond  of  misfortune,  is 
difficult  to  understand.  That  Madame  de  Stael 
kept  by  her  side  for  years  a  woman  whose 
remarkable  beauty  and  sympathetic  charm 
brought  out  in  strong  contrast  her  own  per- 

69 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


sonal  defects,  presupposes  a  generosity  of  spirit 
for  which  few  persons  give  this  supremely  ego- 
tistical woman  credit.  She  always  spoke  of 
Madame  Becamier  in  rapturous  terms,  and  her 
"belle  Juliette"  and  her  "dear  angel"  seems 
to  have  been  free  under  the  eyes  of  her  hostess 
to  capture  such  noble  and  learned  lovers  as 
Mathieu  de  Montmorency,  Prince  Augustus  of 
Prussia,  Ampere,  and  Chateaubriand.  It  was 
only  when  that  ill-named  Benjamin  Constant  al- 
lowed his  unstable  affections  to  wander  from  the 
dahlia  to  the  lily  that  Germaine  de  Stae'Ps  anger 
was  aroused  against  her  friend.  For  a  short 
period  Madame  Becamier  ceased  to  be  the 
"belle  Juliette"  and  the  "dear  angel"  of  the 
mistress  of  Coppet  until,  with  a  truly  angelic 
sweetness  of  temper  and  infinite  tact,  she  made 
Germaine  understand  that  she  had  no  desire  to 
carry  off  her  recreant  lover  and  so  the  friend- 
ship continued  to  the  end. 

If  it  is  difficult  to  understand  the  long  friend- 
ship of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Juliette  Becamier, 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  follow  with  any  com- 
prehension or  sympathy  the  various  loves  of 
Germaine.  One  can  perhaps  understand  that 
after  Benjamin  Constant  had  escaped  from  her 
stormy  endearments  she  could  turn  for  solace  to 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

young  Albert  Rocca,  and  yet  why  did  she  still 
cling  to  Benjamin's  outworn  affection,  and  then, 
with  naive  inconsistency,  declare  that  he  had 
not  been  the  supreme  object  of  her  devotion,  but 
that  Narbonne,  Talleyrand  and  Mathieu  de 
Montmorency  were  the  three  men  whom  she  had 
most  deeply  loved  ? 

Lydia  said  something  of  this,  as  we  passed 
through  the  gate  of  the  chateau,  upon  which  an 
elderly  woman,  who  had  been  one  of  the  guide's 
party,  turned  to  us  and  said  abruptly,  "Artistic 
temperament!  Men  have  been  allowed  a 
monopoly  of  all  the  advantages  belonging  to 
the  artistic  temperament  for  so  many  years  that 
it  seems  only  fair  to  cover  over  the  delinquencies 
of  women  of  such  unquestioned  genius  as  G-er- 
maine  de  Stael  and  George  Sand  with  the  same 
mantle  of  charity." 

These  words  of  truth  and  soberness  were 
spoken  in  a  tone  of  authority,  almost  of  finality, 
and  yet  in  the  stranger's  eyes  there  shone  so 
kindly  and  genial  a  light  that  far  from  being 
repelled  by  them,  we  found  ourselves  discussing 
with  her  the  loves  of  poets  and  philosophers  as 
we  descended  the  steep  hill  that  leads  from  the 
chateau  to  the  garden  cafe  at  its  foot.  Here, 
led  on  by  the  pleasant  comradeship  induced  by 

61 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


travel,  we  continued  our  discussion  over  cups 
of  tea  and  buns,  while  Mont  Blanc  glowed  to 
rose  in  the  sunset  light,  and  we  wondered  again 
how  Madame  de  Stael  could  ever  have  looked 
upon  the  shores  of  this  beautiful  lake  as  a 
11  terrible  country,"  even  if  it  was  for  her  a 
"  land  of  exile." 

You  will  think  that  we  have  had  enough 
pleasure  and  interest  for  one  afternoon,  but 
you  must  remember  that  this  is  our  one  day  in 
Geneva,  and  although  we  have  all  been  here 
before,  we  have  never  seen  Ferney.  Walter  dis- 
covered, in  looking  over  the  local  guidebook, 
that  this  is  the  day  for  Ferney,  and  that  it  is 
open  until  six  o'clock.  He  found  that  we  had 
an  hour  after  reaching  the  boat  landing. 
Walter  secured  an  automobile  and  we  set  forth 
for  the  home  of  Voltaire,  which  is  really  very 
near  Geneva. 

It  was  interesting  to  see  the  old  philoso- 
pher's rooms  and  the  gardens,  from  which  there 
is  an  extended  view  of  the  lake  and  mountains ; 
but  most  impressive  after  all  is  the  little  church 
which  he  built  in  his  old  age,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion on  one  end : 

DEO    EREXIT    VOLTAIRE    MDCCLXI 
62 


AN  AFTERNOON  AT  COPPET 

Walter  has  suddenly  conceived  the  idea  that 
there  are  some  valuable  coins  well  worth  a  visit 
in  the  Ariana  Museum  which  we  passed  on 
the  way  to  Ferney,  so  we  have  decided  to  gain 
a  half  day  here  by  taking  an  afternoon  train  to 
Dijon  and  stopping  there  over  night.  When 
you  next  hear  from  me  it  will  be  from  Mary 
Stuart's  pleasant  land  of  France  and  probably 
from  the  Paris  beloved  of  Germaine  de  Stael. 
Until  then,  au  revoir,  ma  belle. 


IV 
EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


H6TEL  DB  LA  CLOCHE,  DlJON,  August  26th. 

WE  STOPPED  at  this  interesting  old  town  last 
night  in  order  to  break  the  long  journey  from 
Geneva  to  Paris.  Dijon,  which  has  only  been  to 
us  a  station  to  stop  in  long  enough  to  change 
trains  and  to  look  upon  longingly  from  the  car 
windows,  proves  upon  closer  acquaintance  to 
be  a  town  of  great  interest.  After  a  morning 
spent  among  its  churches  and  ancient  houses 
and  in  its  museum,  we  were  quite  ready  to  echo 
the  sentiments  of  an  English  lady  whom  we  met 
at  the  table  d'hote,  who  spends  weeks  here 
instead  of  days,  and  wonders  why  travellers 
pass  Dijon  by  when  it  is  so  much  more  worth 
while  than  many  of  the  places  they  are  going 
to.  So  much  is  left  of  the  ancient  churches  and 
buildings  to  remind  one  of  the  romantic  and 
heroic  history  of  Dijon,  that  it  seems  eminently 
fitting  that  we  should  make  this  stop-over,  a 
visit  to  the  capital  city  of  Burgundy  being  a 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


suitable  prelude  to  a  sojourn  among  the  cha- 
teaux of  the  French  kings,  who  had  their  own 
troubles  with  these  powerful  lords  of  the  soil. 
The  present  Hotel  de  Ville  was  once  the  palace 
of  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy.  Little  is  now  left  of 
the  original  building  with  the  exception  of  the 
ancient  kitchens,  and  these,  with  their  half- 
dozen  great  ventilating  shafts,  give  one  the  im- 
pression that  those  doughty  old  warriors  had 
sensitive  olfactories. 

In  the  Cathedral  of  Saint  Benigne,  who 
seems  to  be  the  patron  saint  of  Dijon,  are  the 
remains  of  the  great  Dukes  of  Burgundy, 
although  their  magnificent  tombs  are  in  the 
museum.  The  Cathedral  of  Saint  Benigne  has 
a  lovely  apse  and  other  architectural  charms; 
but  Notre  Dame  captivated  us  utterly,  so  won- 
derful are  its  gargoyles  representing  man  and 
beast  with  equal  impartiality,  their  heads  and 
shoulders  emerging  from  a  rich  luxuriance  of 
sculptured  foliage,  the  whole  indescribably 
beautiful  and  grotesque  at  the  same  time.  It  is 
not  strange  that  the  carved  figure  of  a  plump 
and  well-fed  Holy  Father,  with  his  book  in  one 
hand  and  food  in  the  other,  sitting  beside  an 
empty-handed  and  mild-faced  sheep,  should 

5  65 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


have  called  forth  such  lines  as  the  following 
from  some  local  poet,  evidently  intended  for  the 
remarks  of  the  sheep : 

"LES  ESPRITS-FOBTS. 

Volontiers  les  humains  s'apellent  fortes-tetes 

Qui  la  plupart  du  temps  ne  sont  que  bonnes  betes 

Et  qui  juste  en  raison  de  leurs  etroits  esprits 

De  leurs  maigres  pensers  sont  beaucoup  trop  epris." 

Other  decorators  and  sculptors  of  these 
ancient  buildings  have,  like  Fra  Lippo  Lippi, 
worked  their  own  quaint  conceits  and  humorous 
fancies  into  their  canvases  and  marbles,  and 
we  to-day  are  filled  with  wonder  at  their  clever- 
ness, as  well  as  over  the  excellence  of  their  art, 
so  exquisite  is  the  carving  of  leaf  and  branch 
and  vine.  One  would  need  to  come  often  to  the 
Galerie  des  Tours  of  Notre  Dame  to  fully  enjoy 
it,  and  other  beauties  of  this  church,  whose 
tower  is  crowned  by  a  curious  clock  with  mov- 
ing figures,  called  Jacquemart,  after  the  Flem- 
ish mechanician  Jacques  Marc  who  designed  it. 
The  Jacquemart,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
stolidly  strikes  the  hours,  undisturbed  by  the 
cold  of  winter  or  the  heat  of  summer,  as  some 
Burgundian  poet  of  the  sixteenth  century  has 
set  forth  in  a  quaint  rhyme. 

66 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


Near  the  cathedral  is  a  charmingly  pictu- 
resque building  called  La  Tour  de  Bar,  where 
Rene  d'Anjou,  Duke  of  Bar  and  Lorraine,  was 
imprisoned  with  his  children.  In  the  museum, 
which  possesses  many  treasures  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  we  saw  the  magnificently  carved 
tombs  of  Philippe  le  Hardi  and  Jean  Sans-Peur. 
Here,  with  angels  at  their  heads  and  lions 
couchant  at  their  feet,  the  effigies  of  these  Dukes 
of  Valois  rest,  surrounded  by  a  wealth  of  sculp- 
ture and  decoration  almost  unequalled.  It 
would  be  well  worth  stopping  over  night  at 
Dijon  if  only  to  see  the  magnificent  tombs 
of  these  bold  and  unscrupulous  old  warriors 
and  politicians.  Jean  Sans-Peur  planned  and 
accomplished  the  assassination  of  Louis 
d 'Orleans  and  was  himself  overtaken  by  the 
assassin  a  few  years  later.  The  tomb  of  the 
boldest  and  bravest  of  them  all,  Charles  le 
Temeraire,  you  may  remember,  we  saw  at 
Bruges.  The  lion  at  the  feet  of  the  last  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  with  head  upraised,  seems  to  be 
guarding  the  repose  of  his  royal  master,  who  in 
his  life  found  that  neither  statecraft  nor  armies 
could  avail  against  the  machinations  of  his  arch- 
enemy, Louis  XI. 

67 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Beautiful  and  impressive  as  are  these  tombs, 
the  true  glory  of  Dijon  is  that  the  great  Bossuet 
was  born  here  and  St.  Bernard  so  near,  at 
Fontaine,  that  Dijon  may  claim  him  for  her 
own;  and  Eameau,  the  celebrated  composer; 
Eude,  whose  sculptures  adorn  the  Arc  de 
1  'Etoile  in  Paris ;  Jouffroy,  and  a  host  of  other 
celebrities,  as  we  read  in  the  names  of  the 
streets,  parks,  and  boulevards,  for  Dijon,  like 
so  many  French  cities  and  towns,  writes  her 
history,  art,  literature,  and  science  on  her  street 
corners  and  public  squares,  thus  keeping  the 
names  of  her  great  people  before  her  children. 

When  we  were  studying  routes  in  Geneva 
yesterday  it  seemed  quite  possible  to  go  to 
Tours  by  Bourges  and  Saincaize,  and  thus 
secure  a  day  in  Bourges  for  the  cathedral  of 
Saint  Etienne,  which  is  said  to  be  one  of  the 
most  glorious  in  France,  and  not  less  interest- 
ing to  see  the  house  of  the  famous  merchant- 
prince  who  supplied  the  depleted  coffers  of 
Charles  VII,  Jacques  Cceur,  the  valiant  heart 
to  whom  nothing  was  impossible,  as  his  motto 
sets  forth.  At  the  tourist  office  we  were  told 
that  such  a  crosscut  to  Tours  was  quite  out  of 
the  question,  impossible,  and  that  the  only  route 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


to  the  chateau  country  was  via  Paris.  It  seemed 
to  us  a  quite  useless  waste  of  time  and  strength 
to  go  northward  to  Paris  and  then  down  again 
to  Tours,  which  is  south  and  a  little  west,  but 
having  no  knowledge  on  the  subject  and  no 
Bradshaw  with  us  to  prove  our  point,  we 
accepted  the  ultimatum,  although  Miss  Cas- 
sandra relieved  her  feelings  by  saying  that  she 
did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  and  that  tourist's 
agents  were  a  stiff-necked  and  untoward  gen- 
eration, and  that  she  for  her  part  felt  sure  that 
we  could  cut  across  the  country  to  Saincaize 
and  Bourges.  However,  when  we  hear  the 
questions  that  are  asked  these  long-suffering 
agents  at  the  tourist  offices  by  people  who  do 
not  seem  to  understand  explanations  in  any  lan- 
guage, even  their  own,  we  wonder  that  they 
have  any  good  nature  left,  whatever  their  birth- 
right of  amiability  may  have  been.  Here,  in 
Dijon,  we  find  that  we  could  have  carried  out 
our  charming  little  plan,  and  Walter,  realizing 
my  disappointment,  suggests  that  we  take  an 
automobile  from  here  to  Saincaize  and  then  go 
by  a  train  to  Bourges  and  Tours.  This  sounds 
quite  delightful,  but  our  Quaker  lady,  having 
turned  her  face  toward  the  gay  capital,  demurs, 

69 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


saying  that  "We  have  started  to  Paris,  and  to 
Paris  we  had  better  go,  especially  as  our  trunks 
have  been  sent  on  in  advance,  and  it  really  is 
not  safe  to  have  one's  luggage  long  out  of  one's 
sight  in  a  strange  country."  This  last  argu- 
ment proved  conclusive,  and  we  yielded,  as  we 
usually  do,  to  Miss  Cassandra's  arguments, 
although  we  generally  make  a  pretence  of  dis- 
cussing the  pros  and  cons. 

PARIS,  August  29th. 

When  we  reached  Paris  on  Saturday  we 
soon  found  out  why  we  had  come  here,  to  use 
the  rather  obscure  phrasing  of  the  man  of  the 
party,  for  it  speedily  transpired  that  Miss 
Cassandra  had  brought  us  here  with  deliberate 
intent  to  lead  us  from  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  of  sightseeing  into  the  devious  and  beguil- 
ing ways  of  the  modiste.  She  has  for  some 
reason  set  her  heart  upon  having  two  Paris 
gowns,  one  for  the  house  and  one  for  the  street, 
and  Lydia  and  T,  being  too  humane  to  leave  her 
unprotected  in  the  hands  of  a  dressmaker  who 
speaks  no  English,  spent  one  whole  afternoon 
amid  the  intricacies  of  broadcloth,  messaline, 
and  chiffon.  Of  course  we  ordered  some  gowns 

70 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


for  ourselves  as  a  time-saving  measure, 
although  I  really  do  not  think  it  is  usually  worth 
while  to  waste  one 's  precious  hours  over  clothes 
when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  that  is  better 
worth  while.  However,  the  shades  of  mauve, 
and  all  the  variants  of  purple,  which  are  set 
forth  so  alluringly  in  the  windows  are  enough 
to  tempt  an  anchorite,  and  no  more  decided 
color  attracts  us,  as  blues  and  greens  seem  crude 
and  startling  beside  these  soft  shades,  which 
came  in  with  the  half-mourning  for  King 
Edward  and  are  still  affected  by  Parisians  of 
good  taste. 

Our  Quaker  lady  has  become  so  gay  and 
worldly-minded,  since  her  signal  triumph  with 
the  American  countesses  in  her  merry  widow, 
that  we  are  continually  reminded  of  the  "Reju- 
venation of  Aunt  Mary, ' '  and  Lydia  and  I  have 
to  be  on  the  alert  to  draw  her  away  from  the 
attractions  of  windows  where  millinery  is  dis- 
played, lest  she  insist  on  investing  in  a  grena- 
dier, or  in  that  later  and  even  more  grotesque 
device  of  the  modiste,  the  "Chantecler." 

To  compensate  for  the  time  lost  at  the  dress- 
makers, we  had  two  long  beautiful  mornings  at 
the  Louvre  and  a  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  Lux- 

71 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


embourg,  followed  by  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  pleas- 
ant, sociable  half -hour  at  the  Students'  Hostel, 
on  the  Boulevard  Saint-Michel,  a  delightful, 
homelike  inn  where  many  young  women  who 
are  studying  in  Paris  find  a  home  amid  con- 
genial surroundings.  A  little  oasis  in  the  desert 
of  a  lonesome  student  life,  this  friendly  hostel 
seemed  to  us.  Several  women  whom  we  knew 
at  home  were  pouring  tea,  and  we  met  some 
nice  English  and  American  girls  who  are  study- 
ing art  and  music,  and  the  tea  and  buns  brought 
to  us  by  friendly  hands  made  the  simple  after- 
noon tea  take  upon  it  something  of  the  nature 
of  a  lovefeast,  so  warm  and  kindly  was  the 
welcome  accorded  us. 

PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  August  30th. 

We  left  Paris  yesterday  from  the  Station 
Quai  d'Orsay  for  our  journey  of  three  and  a 
half  hours  to  Tours.  So  near  to  Paris  is  this 
chateau  land  of  Touraine  that  we  wonder  why 
we  have  not  all  been  journeying  this  way  full 
many  a  year,  instead  of  waiting  to  be  caught  up 
and  borne  hither  by  the  tide  of  fashion,  espe- 
cially as  our  route  lay  through  a  land  filled 
with  historic  and  romantic  associations.  It  is 
impossible  to  pass  through  this  flat  but  pictu- 

72 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


resque  country,  with  its  winding  rivers  and 
white  roads  shaded^  by  tall  poplars,  and  by  such 
old  gray  towns  as  Etampes,  Orleans,  Blois,  and 
Amboise,  without  recalling  the  delight  with 
which  we  have  wandered  here  in  such  goodly 
company  as  that  of  Brantome,  Balzac,  Dumas, 
and  Madame  de  Sevigne. 

It  was  upon  this  same  Loire,  which  winds 
around  many  a  chateau  before  it  throws  itself 
into  the  sea,  that  Madame  de  Sevigne  described 
herself  as  setting  forth  from  Tours  at  5  o  'clock 
on  a  May  morning,  in  a  boat,  and  in  the  most 
beautiful  weather  in  the  world. 

These  boats  on  the  Loire,  as  described  by 
Madame  de  Sevigne,  were  evidently  somewhat 
like  gondolas.  "I  have  the  body  of  my  grande 
carosse  so  arranged,"  she  wrote,  "that  the  sun 
could  not  trouble  us;  we  lowered  the  glasses; 
the  opening  in  front  made  a  marvellous  picture, 
all  the  points  of  view  that  you  can  imagine. 
Only  the  Abbe  and  I  were  in  this  little  compart- 
ment on  good  cushions  and  in  fine  air,  much  at 
our  ease,  altogether  like  cochons  sur  la  paille. 
We  had  potage  et  du  boulli,  quite  warm,  as 
there  is  a  little  furnace  here;  one  eats  on  a 
ship's  plank  like  the  king  and  queen;  from 

73 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


which  you  see  how  everything  is  raffine  upon 
our  Loire!" 

Down  this  same  river  M.  Fouquet,  the  great 
financier,  fled  from  the  wrath  of  his  royal 
master  and  the  bitter  hatred  of  his  rival  Colbert. 
On  the  swift  current  the  lighter  sped,  carried 
along  by  it  and  the  eight  rowers  toward  Nantes 
and  Fouquet's  own  fortress  of  Belle  Isle,  only 
to  be  overtaken  by  Colbert's  boat  with  its  twelve 
sturdy  oarsmen.  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
sins  of  Fouquet,  he  had  so  many  charming  traits 
and  was  so  beloved  by  the  great  writers  of 
France — Moliere,  La  Fontaine,  Madame  de 
Sevigne,  Pelisson,  and  all  the  rest  whom  he 
gathered  around  him  at  his  chateau — that  our 
sympathies  are  with  him  rather  than  with  the 
cold  and  calculating  Colbert.  Putting  their 
hands  into  the  public  coffers  was  so  much  the 
habit  of  the  financiers  and  royal  almoners  of 
that  period  that  we  quite  resent  Fouquet's  being 
singled  out  for  the  horrible  punishment  inflicted 
upon  him,  and  alter  all  he  may  not  have  been 
guilty,  as  justice  often  went  far  astray  in  those 
days,  as  in  later  times. 

Whether  or  not  M.  Fouquet  was  the  "Man 
with  the  Iron  Mask,"  as  some  authorities  relate, 

74 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


we  shall  probably  never  know.  Walter,  who  is 
not  a  fanciful  person,  as  you  are  aware,  is 
inclined  to  believe  that  he  was,  although  his 
beloved  Dumas  has  invented  a  highly  dramatic 
tale  which  makes  a  twin  brother  of  Louis  XIV, 
the  mysterious  "Man  with  the  Iron  Mask." 

In  the  goodly  company  of  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
her  fablier,  as  she  dubbed  La  Fontaine,  M. 
Fouquet,  and  our  old  friends  the  three  Guards- 
men, you  may  believe  that  the  journey  from 
Paris  to  Tours  did  not  seem  long  to  us.  I  must 
tell  you  of  one  contretemps,  however,  in  case 
you,  like  us,  take  the  express  train  from  the 
Quai  d'Orsay.  Instead  of  being  carried  to  our 
destination,  which  is  a  railroad  courtesy  that 
one  naturally  expects,  we  were  dumped  out  at 
a  place  about  twenty  miles  from  Tours.  We 
had  our  books  and  papers  all  around  us,  and 
were  enjoying  sole  possession  of  the  compart- 
ment, when  we  were  suddenly  told  to  put  away 
our  playthings  and  change  cars.  We  asked 
"Why?"  as  we  had  understood  that  this  was 
a  through  train,  but  the  only  response  that  we 
could  get  from  the  guard  was,  "St.  Pierre  le 
Corps,  change  cars  for  Tours!"  So  bag  and 
baggage,  with  not  a  porter  in  sight  to  help  us, 

75 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


and  Walter  loaded  like  a  dromedary  with  dress- 
suit  cases  and  parcels,  we  were  hurried  across 
a  dozen  railroad  tracks  to  a  train  which  was 
apparently  waiting  for  us. 

''What  does  it  all  mean?'*  exclaimed  Miss 
Cassandra.  "What  have  we  to  do  with  St. 
Peter  and  his  body?  St.  Martin  and  his  cloak 
are  what  we  naturally  expect  here." 

"To  be  sure,"  we  all  exclaimed  in  a  breath, 
but  we  had  actually  forgotten  that  St.  Martin 
was  the  patron  saint  of  Tours. 

Miss  Cassandra  is  worth  a  dozen  guide- 
books, as  she  always  gives  us  her  information 
when  we  want  it,  and  we  want  it  at  every  step 
in  this  old  Touraine,  which  is  filled  with  history 
and  romance.  She  also  reminds  us  that  between 
Tours  and  Poitiers  was  fought  the  great  battle 
between  the  Saracen  invaders  and  the  French, 
under  Charles  Martel,  which  turned  back  the 
tide  of  Mohammedism  and  secured  for  France 
and  Europe  the  blessings  of  Christianity,  and 
that  in  the  Chateau  of  Plessis-les-Tours  the 
famous  treaty  was  made  between  Henry  III  and 
his  kinsman,  Henry  of  Navarre,  which  brought 
together  under  one  flag  the  League,  the  Re- 
formers, and  the  Royalists  of  France. 

76 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


As  we  drove  from  the  station  to  the  hotel, 
the  coachman  pointed  out  to  us  the  new  church 
of  St.  Martin,  which  occupies  a  portion  of  the 
site  of  the  vast  basilica  of  which  two  pictu- 
resque towers  alone  remain.  We  hope  for  a 
nearer  view  of  it  to-morrow,  and  of  St.  Gatien, 
whose  double  towers  we  can  see  from  our  win- 
dows at  the  Pension  B . 

We  had  expected  to  stop  at  the  Hotel  de 
1'Univers,  which  Mr.  Henry  James  and  all  the 
other  great  folk  honor  with  their  regard;  but 
finding  no  accommodations  there  we  are  tem- 
porarily lodged  at  this  excellent  pension. 
Although  called  a  hotel  by  courtesy,  this  house 
possesses  all  the  characteristics  of  a  pension  in 
good  standing.  There  is  no  office,  nothing  to 
suggest  the  passing  of  the  coin  of  the  realm 
between  ourselves  and  the  proprietors.  We  are 
treated  like  honored  guests  by  the  ancient 
porter  and  the  other  domestics ;  but  of  Madame, 
our  hostess,  we  have  only  fleeting  visions  in 
the  hall  and  on  the  stairway,  usually  in  a  pink 
matinee.  Monsieur  materializes  on  occasions 
when  we  need  postage  stamps  and  change,  and 
is  most  accommodating  in  looking  up  train 
times  for  us.  Above  all,  and  most  characteristic 
77 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


of  all,  there  is  in  the  salle  a  manger  a  long  table 
surrounded  by  a  dozen  or  more  of  our  country- 
women, en  voyage  like  ourselves. 

Walter  was  at  first  somewhat  disconcerted 
by  this  formidable  array  of  womankind  without 
a  man  in  sight,  and  at  the  dinner  table  confided 
to  me  his  sentiments  regarding  pensions  in 
rather  strong  language,  insisting  that  it  was 
like  being  in  a  convent,  or  a  young  ladies'  sem- 
inary, except  that  he  had  noticed  that  most  of 
the  ladies  were  not  painfully  young,  all  this  in 
an  undertone,  of  course,  when  lo !  as  if  in  answer 
to  his  lament,  a  man  appeared  and  seated  him- 
self modestly,  as  befitted  his  minority  sex,  at  a 
side  table  by  his  wife.  Walter  now  having  some 
one  to  keep  him  in  countenance,  we  shall  prob- 
ably remain  where  we  are  and  indeed  a  harder 
heart  than  his,  even  a  heart  of  stone,  could  not 
fail  to  be  touched  by  Miss  Cassandra's  delight 
at  being  surrounded  by  her  compatriots,  and 
able  to  speak  her  own  language  once  more  with 
freedom.  The  joyous  manner  in  which  she 
expands  socially,  and  scintillates  conversation- 
ally, proves  how  keen  her  sufferings  must  have 
been  in  the  uncomprehending  and  unrequiting 
circles  in  which  we  have  been  living.  It  goes 

78 


EN  ROUTE  FOR  TOURAINE 


without  saying  that  she  soon  became  the  centre 
of  attraction  at  table,  and  so  thrilled  her  audi- 
ence by  a  spirited  recital  of  her  adventures  at 
the  Villa  Carlotta  that  the  other  man  cried, 
"Bravo!"  from  his  side  table,  without  waiting 
for  the  formality  of  an  introduction. 

''Quite  different,"  as  Walter  says,  "from 
the  punctilious  gentlemen  in  the  'Bab  Ballads' 
who  couldn't  eat  the  oysters  on  the  desert 
island  without  being  duly  presented." 

Our  new  acquaintances  are  already  planning 
tours  for  us  to  the  different  chateaux  of  the 
Loire,  while  Walter  and  his  companion,  who 
proves  to  be  a  United  States  Army  man  and 
quite  a  delightful  person,  are  smoking  in  the 
garden.  This  garden  upon  which  our  long  win- 
dows open,  with  its  many  flowers  and  shrubs 
and  the  largest  gingko  tree  I  have  ever  seen, 
would  hold  us  fast  by  its  charms  were  the  Pen- 
sion B less  comfortable  than  it  is. 


V 

IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  August  31st. 

WE  SET  forth  this  morning  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery,  and  on  foot,  which  is  the  only  satis- 
factory way  to  explore  this  old  town,  with  its 
winding  streets  and  quaint  byways  and  corners. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  church  of  St. 
Martin  of  Tours,  in  the  Eue  des  Halles,  which 
brought  with  it  some  disappointment,  as  instead 
of  a  building  so  old  that  no  one  can  give  its 
date,  we  found  a  fine  new  church,  in  whose  crypt 
are  the  remains  of  St.  Martin.  The  most 
ancient  basilica  of  St.  Martin  was  erected  soon 
after  the  death  of  the  benevolent  saint,  whose 
remains  were  carried  by  faithful  members  of 
his  diocese  from  Candes,  where  he  died  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  This  basilica 
was  burned  down  in  the  tenth  century,  and 
another  erected  on  its  site  some  years  later. 
This  last  basilica,  built  in  the  twelfth  or  thir- 
teenth century,  of  vast  size  and  beauty,  was  cer- 

80 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


tainly  old  enough  to  have  been  treated  with 
respect,  and  its  destruction  a  few  years  ago  to 
make  way  for  a  new  street  was,  as  Walter  says, 
an  act  of  vandalism  worthy  of  the  councilmen 
of  an  American  city.  Of  the  old  church  only 
two  towers  remain,  the  Tour  de  Charlemagne 
and  the  Tour  de  1'Horloge,  and  the  gallery  of 
one  of  the  cloisters.  Over  this  imperfect  arcade, 
with  its  exquisite  carvings  of  arabesques,  flow- 
ers, fruits,  cherubs,  and  griffins,  Mr.  Henry 
James  waxed  eloquent,  and  Mrs.  Mark  Pattison 
said  of  it:  "Of  these  beautiful  galleries  the 
eastern  side  alone  has  survived,  and  being  little 
known  it  has  fortunately  not  been  restored,  and 
left  to  go  quietly  to  ruin.  Yet  even  in  its  pres- 
ent condition  the  sculptures  with  which  it  is 
enriched,  the  bas  reliefs,  arabesques,  and  medal- 
lions which  fill  the  delicate  lines  of  the  pilasters 
and  arcades  testify  to  the  brilliant  and  decided 
character  which  the  Renaissance  early  assumed 
in  Touraine." 

If  the  present  church  of  St.  Martin  was  dis- 
appointingly new,  we  found  the  Cathedral  of 
St.  Gatien  sufficiently  ancient,  with  its  choir 
dating  back  to  the  thirteenth  century  and  its 
transept  to  the  fourteenth,  while  the  newels  of 

6  81 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


the  two  towers  belong  to  a  very  much  earlier 
church  dedicated  to  the  first  Bishop  of  Tours, 
and  partly  destroyed  by  fire  in  1166. 

Who  St.  Gatien  was,  and  why  he  had  a 
cathedral  built  in  his  honor,  even  Miss  Cas- 
sandra and  Lydia  do  not  know,  and  we  have  no 
good  histories  or  Lives  of  the  Saints  to  refer  to ; 
verily  one  would  need  a  traveller's  library  of 
many  volumes  in  order  to  answer  the  many 
questions  that  occur  to  us  in  this  city,  which  is 
so  full  of  old  French  history,  and  English  his- 
tory, too.  Indeed  it  is  quite  impossible  to  sep- 
arate them  at  this  period,  when  England  owned 
so  much  of  France  and,  as  Miss  Cassandra 
says,  her  kings  were  always  looking  out  of  the 
windows  of  their  French  castles  upon  some 
Naboth's  vineyard  that  they  were  planning  to 
seize  from  their  neighbors. 

"  Jolly  old  robbers  they  were,"  says  Walter, 
"and  always  on  top  when  there  was  any  fight- 
ing to  be  done.  I  must  say,  quite  aside  from 
the  question  of  right  or  wrong,  that  I  have  much 
more  sympathy  with  them  than  with  the  Johnny 
Crapauds.  Here,  in  this  foreign  land  of  France, 
the  Plantagenet  kings  seem  quite  our  own,  and 
only  a  few  removes  in  consanguinity  from  our 
early  Presidents." 

82 


STAIRCASE  AND  CLOITRE  DE  LA   PSALLETTE,   ST.  GATIEN 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


We  were  glad  to  lay  claim  to  the  Cathedral 
of  St.  Gatien,  which  in  a  way  belongs  to  us,  as 
the  choir  was  begun  by  Henry  II  of  England, 
although  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  quarrel 
between  this  Plantagenet  king  and  Louis  VII 
resulted  in  a  fire  which  destroyed  much  of  the 
good  work.  We  lingered  long  in  the  cloisters, 
and  climbed  up  the  royal  staircase,  with  its 
beautiful  openwork  vaulting  to  the  north  tower, 
from  whose  top  we  may  see  as  far  as  Azay-le- 
Eideau  on  a  clear  day. 

This  was,  of  course,  not  a  clear  day,  as  we 
are  having  hazy  August  weather,  so  we  did 
not  see  Azay,  but  from  the  tower  we  gained 
quite  a  good  idea  of  the  general  plan  of  Tours, 
and  stopped  long  enough  in  the  cloisters  to 
learn  that  the  picturesque  little  gallery,  called 
the  Cloitre  de  la  Psallette,  was  the  place  where 
the  choir  boys  were  once  trained.  The  facade 
of  this  cathedral  seemed  to  us  a  beautiful 
example  of  Renaissance  style,  although  said  to 
offend  many  of  the  canons  of  architecture.  We 
are  thankful  that  we  do  not  know  enough  about 
the  principles  of  architecture  to  be  offended  by 
so  beautiful  a  creation,  and  inside  the  church 
we  were  so  charmed  by  the  exquisite  old  glass, 
staining  the  marble  pillars  with  red,  blue  and 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


violet,  that  we  failed  to  notice  that  the  aisles 
are  too  narrow  for  perfect  harmony.  The  jewel- 
like  glass  of  the  Lady  Chapel  was  brought  here 
from  the  old  church  of  St.  Julian  in  the  Rue 
Nationale,  once  the  Rue  Royale,  and  is  espe- 
cially lovely. 

In  a  chapel  in  the  right-hand  transept  we 
saw  the  tomb  of  the  little  children  of  Charles 
VIII  and  Anne  of  Brittany,  by  whose  early 
death  the  throne  of  France  passed  to  the  Valois 
branch  of  the  Orleans  family.  Looking  at  the 
faces  of  these  two  children  sleeping  here  side 
by  side,  the  little  one  with  his  hands  under  the 
ermine  marble,  the  elder  with  his  small  hands 
folded  piously  together,  a  wave  of  sympathy 
passed  over  us  for  the  unhappy  mother  who 
was  in  a  few  months  deprived  of  both  her 
precious  babies.  As  we  stood  by  the  tomb  with 
its  two  quaint  little  figures,  guarded  by  kneel- 
ing angels  at  their  heads  and  feet,  beautiful, 
appropriate,  reverent,  we  wondered  why  mod- 
ern sculptors  fall  so  far  behind  the  ancient  in 
work  of  this  sort.  The  moderns  may  know  their 
anatomy  better,  but  in  sweetness  and  tender 
poetic  expression  the  work  of  the  old  artists  is 
infinitely  superior.  This  charming  little  group 

84 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


was  probably  made  by  Michael  Colombe, 
although  it  has  been  attributed  to  several  other 
sculptors  of  the  time. 

After  a  visit  to  the  archbishop's  palace,  and 
a  short  stop  at  the  museum,  which  attracted  us 
less  than  the  outdoor  world  on  this  pleasant 
day,  we  stopped  at  the  Quai  du  Pont  Neuf  to 
look  at  the  statues  of  Descartes  and  Rabelais, 
so  picturesquely  placed  on  each  side  of  the  Pont 
de  Pierre.  Retracing  our  steps  by  the  Rue 
Nationale  we  strolled  into  the  interesting  old 
church  of  St.  Julian,  where  we  admired  the  vast 
nave  of  noble  proportions  and  the  beautiful 
stained  glass.  After  wandering  at  will  through 
several  streets  with  no  especial  object  in  view, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  charming  little  park 
where  we  were  interested  in  a  monument  to 
three  good  physicians  of  Tours,  a  recognition 
of  valiant  service  to  humanity  that  might  well 
be  followed  by  our  American  cities.  Just  here 
my  inveterate  American  reminded  me  of  the 
monument  in  Boston  to  the  discoverer  of  ether, 
and  that  to  Dr.  Hahnemann  in  Washington. 

"Both  of  them  monstrosities  of  bad  taste !" 
exclaimed  Miss  Cassandra,  as  we  turned  into 
the  Rue  Emile  Zola,  and  along  the  Rue 

85 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Nationale  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  in  one  of 
whose  gardens  is  a  fine  statue  of  the  great 
novelist  who  was  born  in  the  Maison  de  Balzac, 
near  by  on  the  Rue  Nationale.  Through  the 
streets  George  Sand  and  Victor  Hugo,  we  found 
our  way  to  the  theatre  and  then  back  to  the 
Boulevard  Beranger,  upon  which  our  pension  is 
situated. 

"It  is,"  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  "a  liberal 
education  to  walk  through  the  streets  of  these 
old  French  towns,  and  whatever  may  be  the 
shortcomings  of  the  French,  as  a  nation,  they 
cannot  be  accused  of  forgetting  their  great 
people." 

As  we  stroll  through  these  thoroughfares 
and  parks  we  are  constantly  reminded  by  a 
name  on  a  street  corner  or  a  statue  that  this 
Touraine  is  the  land  of  Balzac,  Rabelais,  Des- 
cartes, and  in  a  way  of  Ronsard  and  George 
Sand,  as  the  chateaux  of  La  Poissonniere  and 
Nohant  are  not  far  away.  Here  they,  and  many 
another  French  writer,  walked  and  dreamed, 
creating  characters  so  lifelike  that  they  also 
walk  with  us  through  these  quaint  streets  and 
byways  or  look  out  from  picturesque  doorways. 
We  can  fancy  the  Cure  de  Tours  emerging  from 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


the  lovely  Cloitre  de  la  Psalette  of  St.  Gatien 
or  the  still  lovelier  cloister  of  old  St.  Martin's; 
or  we  can  see  poor  Felex  de  Vandenesse  making 
his  way  across  the  park,  Emile  Zola,  with  his 
meagre  lunch  basket  on  his  arm.  We  have  not 
yet  tasted  the  rillons  and  rillettes  so  prized  by 
the  school  children  of  Tours,  and  so  longed  for 
by  Felex  when  he  beheld  them  in  the  baskets  of 
his  more  fortunate  companions.  Lydia  reminds 
us  that  Balzac  was  at  some  pains  to  explain  that 
this  savory  preparation  of  pork  is  seldom  seen 
upon  the  aristocratic  tables  of  Tours,  and  as 
our  pension  is  strictly  aristocratic  and  exclu- 
sive, it  is  doubtful  if  we  ever  see  rillons  and 
rillettes  upon  Madame  B 's  table. 

September  1st. 

We  crossed  over  the  bridge  this  afternoon  in 
a  tram  to  Saint  Symphorien,  on  whose  hillside 
the  original  city  of  Tours  was  built.  Here  we 
saw  an  interesting  Renaissance  church,  and 
passing  through  the  streets  of  Vieux  Calvaire 
1'Ermitage,  Jeanne  d'Arc  and  St.  Gatien,  gained 
the  entrance  to  the  Abbey  of  Marmoutier,  where 
Saint  Gatien  dug  out  his  cave  in  the  rocky  hill- 
side. We  also  saw  the  ruins  of  a  fine  thirteenth 

87 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


century  basilica  once  the  glory  of  Touraine, 
and  by  a  spiral  staircase  ascended  to  the 
Chapelle  des  Sept  Dormants,  really  a  cavern 
cut  in  the  side  of  the  hill  in  the  shape  of  a  cross, 
where  rest  the  seven  disciples  of  St.  Martin, 
who  all  died  on  the  same  day  as  he  had  pre- 
dicted. Their  bodies  remained  intact  for  days 
and  many  miracles  were  worked,  which  you  may 
believe,  or  not,  just  as  you  choose.  When  the 
name  of  the  chapel  was  revealed  to  Miss  Cas- 
sandra she  exclaimed:  "I  have  heard  of  the 
Seven  Sleepers  all  my  life  and  have  been  likened 
unto  them  in  my  youth ;  but  never  did  I  expect 
to  lay  eyes  upon  their  resting  place,  and  very 
uncomfortable  beds  they  must  have  been!" 

"So  it  was  St.  Gatien  who  first  brought 
Christianity  to  France.  Some  one  of  us  should 
surely  have  known  that,"  said  Lydia,  looking 
up  from  the  pages  of  a  small  local  guidebook, 
with  a  face  so  dejected  over  her  own  ignorance, 
and  that  of  her  companions,  that  Miss  Cassan- 
dra said  in  her  most  soothing  tones : 

"Never  mind,  dear,  you  will  probably  find 
when  we  reach  the  next  cathedral  town  that 
some  other  worthy  and  adored  saint  did  this 
good  work  for  France." 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


And  sure  enough,  this  very  night  we  have 
been  learning,  from  a  short  history  that  we 
picked  up  on  a  book  stall,  that,  although  St. 
Gatien  came  here  on  a  mission  from  Borne 
in  the  third  century,  to  St.  Martin  is  due  the 
spread  of  Christianity  not  only  through  Tou- 
raine  but  all  over  France. 

Having  done  our  duty  in  the  line  of  sight- 
seeing and  historic  associations,  we  rested  from 
our  labors  for  a  brief  season  and  stopped  to 
call  on  the  Grants  from  New  York,  who  are 
staying  in  a  pleasant  pension  at  St.  Symphorien. 
Here  we  had  an  hour  with  them  in  the  garden 
where  many  flowers  are  abloom,  and  exchanged 
travel  experiences  and  home  gossip  over 
brioches,  the  famous  white  wine  of  Vouvray 
and  glasses  of  orange-flower  water.  Orange- 
flower  water  is  the  proper  thing  to  drink  here 
as  it  is  made  in  large  quantities  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Tours.  As  a  refreshing  and  unin- 
toxicating  beverage  it  was  highly  recommended 
to  our  Quaker  lady,  who  does  not  take  kindly 
to  the  wine  of  the  country,  which  is  really  guilt- 
less of  alcohol  to  any  extent;  but  over  this 
rather  insipid  drink  she  was  not  particularly 
enthusiastic.  Like  the  English  woman  when 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


she  made  her  first  acquaintance  with  terrapin, 
the  most  that  Miss  Cassandra  could  be  induced 
to  say  was  that  the  eau  des  fleurs  d' oranges 
sucree  was  not  so  very  bad.  The  English  dame, 
of  course,  said  "it  is  not  so  very  nasty";  but 
we  have  not  become  sufficiently  Anglicized  to 
say  "nasty"  in  company.  There  is  no  knowing 
what  we  may  come  to  when  Angela  joins  us,  as 
she  has  been  visiting  and  motoring  with  Dr. 
Mclvor's  English  and  Scotch  relations  for  the 
last  six  weeks  and  will  have  become  quite  a 
Britisher  by  the  time  we  see  her  again.  She 
is  to  meet  us  in  Paris  later  in  September,  when 
her  M.D.  will  join  us  for  his  vacation. 

We  returned  home  by  the  suspension  bridge, 
built  upon  the  site  of  an  early  bridge  of  boats. 
A  later  stone  bridge  was  erected  by  Odo,  Count 
of  Blois  and  Touraine,  "in  order,"  as  he  re- 
corded, "to  make  himself  agreeable  to  God,  use- 
ful to  posterity  and  upon  the  solicitations  of 
his  wife."  These  were  very  good  reasons,  it 
must  be  admitted,  for  building  a  bridge.  The 
substructure  of  this  old  stone  bridge,  the  first  of 
its  kind  in  France,  may  be  seen  below  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  a  little  farther  up  the  stream. 

Royalty  seems  to  have  had  the  good  taste  to 

90 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


spend  much  time  in  Touraine  during  the  fif- 
teenth, sixteenth,  and  seventeenth  centuries,  and 
small  wonder  we  thought,  for  this  fertile  well- 
watered  plain  combines  the  advantages  of  north 
and  south,  and  is  hospitable  to  the  fruits  and 
flowers  of  many  climates.  Louis  XI,  in  his 
declining  years,  sought  refuge  here  from  the 
chill  winds  of  Paris,  which  are  tempered  in 
Touraine  by  the  softer  breezes  of  the  Midi,  and 
this  ancient  city  of  the  Turones  he  wished  to 
make  the  capital  of  the  France  that  he  had 
strengthened  and  unified.  However  we  may 
abhor  the  despicable  characteristics  of  this  wily 
old  politician  and  despot,  we  cannot  afford  to 
underestimate  his  constructive  ability  and  his 
zeal  for  the  glory  of  France. 

September  2nd. 

We  drove  out  this  morning  through  the  little 
village  of  St.  Anne  to  the  old  chateau  of  Plessis- 
les-Tours,  which  Louis  built  and  fortified  to  suit 
his  fancy  and  his  fears,  for  great  and  powerful 
as  he  was  he  seems  to  have  been  a  most  timid 
mortal.  Of  the  "  hidden  pitfalls,  snares  and 
gins'*  with  which  the  old  King  surrounded  his 
castle  we  could  not  expect  to  find  a  trace,  but 
01 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


we  were  disappointed  to  see  nothing  left  of  the 
three  external  battlemented  walls  or  the  three 
gates  and  dungeon-keep,  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
described,  the  latter  rising  "like  a  black  Ethi- 
opian giant  high  into  the  air." 

With  our  Quentin  Durward  in  our  hands,  we 
read  of  Plessis-les-Tours  as  the  novelist  pict- 
ured it  for  us  in  the  light  of  romance.  Of  course 
Sir  Walter  never  saw  this  chateau,  but  like 
many  other  places  that  he  was  not  able  to  visit, 
it  was  described  to  him  by  his  friend  and  neigh- 
bor, Mr.  James  Skene,  Laird  of  Eubislaw,  who 
while  travelling  in  France  kept  an  accurate 
diary,  enlivened  by  a  number  of  clever  draw- 
ings, all  of  which  he  placed  at  the  novelist's 
disposal.  From  this  journal,  says  Lockhart, 
Sir  Walter  took  the  substance  of  the  original 
introduction  to  Quentin  Durward.  As  Mr.  James 
Skene  is  said  to  have  given  his  friend  most 
accurate  descriptions  of  the  buildings  and 
grounds,  it  is  safe  to  conclude  that  the  chateau 
has  been  entirely  remodelled  since  the  days 
when  the  young  Scottish  archer  listened  to  the 
voice  of  the  Countess  Isabelle,  as  she  sang  to  the 
accompaniment  of  her  lute  while  he  acted  as 
sentinel  in  the  ''spacious  latticed  gallery"  of 

92 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


the  chateau.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  we  failed 
to  discover  the  spacious  gallery  or  the  maze  of 
stairs,  vaults,  and  galleries  above  and  under 
ground  which  are  described  as  leading  to  it. 
Nor  did  we  see  any  traces  of  the  fleur-de-lis, 
ermines,  and  porcupines  which  are  said  to  have 
adorned  the  walls  at  a  later  date.  Indeed  the 
empty,  unfurnished  rooms  and  halls,  guiltless 
of  paintings  or  tapestries,  were  so  dismal  that 
we  hurried  through  them.  As  if  to  add  an  addi- 
tional note  of  discord  to  the  inharmonious  in- 
terior, a  "vaccination  museum"  has  been  estab- 
lished in  one  of  the  ancient  rooms.  We  stopped 
a  moment  to  look  at  the  numerous  caricatures 
of  the  new  method  of  preventing  the  ravages 
of  smallpox;  one,  that  especially  entertained 
Walter,  represented  the  medical  faculty  as  a 
donkey  in  glasses  charged  upon  by  vaccine  in 
the  form  of  a  furious  cow. 

We  hoped  to  find  in  the  grounds  some  com- 
pensation for  the  cheerlessness  of  the  interior 
of  the  castle;  but  here  again  we  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.  The  vast  lawn  and  exten- 
sive parterres,  which  caused  the  park  of  Plessis- 
les-Tours  to  be  spoken  of  as  the  Garden  of 
France,  have  long  since  disappeared,  and  all 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


that  we  could  find  was  a  grass-grown  yard  with 
some  neglected  flower  beds,  surrounded  by  a 
hedge  of  fusane,  a  kind  of  laurel  with  a  small 
white  flower  that  grows  here  in  great  profusion. 
We  made  an  effort  to  see,  or  to  fancy  that  we 
saw,  an  underground  passage  that  was  pointed 
out  to  us  as  that  which  once  led  to  the  dungeon 
upon  whose  stone  foundation  was  placed  the 
iron  cage  in  which  Cardinal  la  Balue  was  con- 
fined. Of  the  series  of  fosses  which  once  en- 
closed the  chateau  we  found  some  remains,  but 
of  the  solid  ramparts  flanked  by  towers,  where 
a  band  of  archers  were  once  posted  by  night  and 
day,  and  of  the  bristling  chevaux-de-frise  noth- 
ing was  to  be  seen.  Walter  wishes  you  to  tell 
Allen  that  the  greatest  disappointment  of  all 
is  that  there  is  no  oak  forest  anywhere  near 
Plessis  from  whose  boughs  the  victims  of  Louis 
were  wont  to  hang  "like  so  many  acorns,"  one 
of  Scott's  bits  of  realism  that  appealed  to  his 
boyish  imagination. 

We  were  glad  to  turn  our  backs  upon  the 
modern  brick  building  which  occupies  the  site 
of  the  ancient  stronghold  of  Plessis  and  to 
drive  home  by  a  farm  called  La  Rabatiere, 
whose  fifteenth  century  building  is  said  to  have 

94 


IN  AND  AROUND  TOURS 


been  the  manor  house  of  Olivier  le  Daim, 
familiarly  called  Olivier  le  Diable,  the  barber- 
minister  of  Louis.  Our  driver,  who  is  some- 
what of  an  historian,  and  like  a  loyal  Tourma- 
geau  is  proud  of  the  associations  of  his  town, 
good  and  bad  alike,  was  delighted  to  show  us 
this  old  home  of  Olivier  who  was,  he  informed 
us,  the  executioner  of  his  master's  enemies  of 
high  degree,  while  Tristan  1'Hermite  attended 
to  those  of  less  distinction,  having,  as  Louis 
warned  Quentin,  "For  him  whose  tongue 
wagged  too  freely  an  amulet  for  the  throat 
which  never  failed  to  work  a  certain  cure. ' '  The 
house  of  Tristan,  our  cocker  told  us,  we  should 
find  in  one  of  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  part 
of  Tours,  which  we  have  not  yet  explored. 


VI 

LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 


PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  September  3rd. 

WHEN  we  started  toward  Langeais  this 
afternoon  we  were  pleased  to  think  that  our 
way  was  much  the  same  as  that  which  Felix  took 
in  search  of  his  "Lily  of  the  Valley."  The 
Loire  lay  before  us  just  as  he  described  it, — 
"a  long  watery  ribbon  which  glistens  in  the  sun 
between  two  green  banks,  the  rows  of  poplars 
which  deck  this  vale  of  love  with  moving 
tracery,  the  oak  woods  reaching  forward 
between  the  vineyards  on  the  hillsides  which  are 
rounded  by  the  river  into  constant  variety,  the 
soft  outlines  crossing  each  other  and  fading  to 
the  horizon." 

We  passed  by  Luynes,  whose  steep  hillside 
steps  we  shall  mount  some  day  to  see  the  fine 
view  of  the  river  and  valley  from  the  outer  walls 
and  terrace  of  the  chateau,  as  its  doors  are  said 
to  be  inhospitable  to  those  who  wish  to  inspect 
the  interior.  This  afternoon  Langeais  and 

96 


MEDIEVAL  STAIRWAY,  CHATEAU  OF  LUYNES 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

Azay-le-Eideau  are  beckoning  us,  although  we 
were  tempted  to  stop  for  a  nearer  view  of  the 
strange  Pile  de  Cinq  Mars,  which  is,  we  are 
told,  an  unsolved  architectural  puzzle.  The 
most  probable  explanation  is  that  this  lofty 
tower  was  once  part  of  a  signalling  system,  by 
beacon  fires,  which  flamed  messages  along  the 
valley,  past  Luynes  to  the  Lantern  of  Koche- 
corbon  and  as  far  eastward  as  Amboise. 

Although  there  are  the  ruins  of  a  castle  of 
the  same  name  quite  near  the  Pile  de  Cinq  Mars, 
the  home  of  Henry  d'Effiat,  Marquis  de  Cinq 
Mars,  seems  to  have  been  at  Chaumont,  where 
Alfred  de  Vigny  placed  the  opening  scenes  of 
his  novel. 

To  compensate  for  our  disappointing  morn- 
ing at  Plessis-les-Tours,  we  had  an  entirely 
satisfactory  afternoon  at  Langeais,  where  we 
beheld  a  veritable  fortress  of  ancient  times.  At 
a  first  glance  we  were  as  much  interested  in  the 
little  gray  town  of  Langeais,  which  is  charm- 
ingly situated  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Loire, 
as  in  the  chateau  itself,  whose  facade  is  gloomy 
and  austere,  a  true  medieval  fortress,  "with 
moat,  drawbridge,  and  portcullis  still  in  work- 
ing order,'*  as  Walter  expresses  it.  As  we 

7  97 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


stood  on  the  stone  steps  at  the  entrance  between 
the  great  frowning  towers  waiting  for  the  port- 
cullis to  be  raised,  we  felt  as  if  we  might  be  in 
a  Scott  or  Dumas  novel,  especially  as  our 
Quaker  lady  repeated  in  her  own  dramatic 
fashion : 

"  .  .  .  .  And  darest  thou  then 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go? 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms — what,  warder,  ho! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 

Lord  Marmion  turn'd, — well  was  his  need, — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung; 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

Fortunately  for  us  the  portcullis  rose 
instead  of  falling,  and  so,  with  plumes  un- 
scathed, we  passed  through  the  doorway,  and 
as  if  to  add  to  the  vraisemblance  of  the  situa- 
tion and  make  us  feel  quite  mediaeval,  soldiers 
stood  on  each  side  of  the  entrance,  apparently 
on  guard,  and  it  was  not  until  after  we  had 


Netirdein  1-reres,  Vho 


ENTRANCE  TO  LANGEAIS,   WITH   DRAWBRIDGE 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

entered  the  chateau  that  we  discovered  them  to 
be  visitors  like  ourselves. 

If  the  fagade  of  Langeais,  with  its  severe 
simplicity  and  solidity,  its  great  stone  towers, 
massive  walls,  chemin  de  ronde  and  machiolated 
cornices,  gave  us  an  impresion  of  power  and 
majesty,  we  found  that  it  also  had  a  smiling 
face  turned  toward  the  hill  and  the  lovely  gar- 
dens. Here  the  windows  open  upon  a  lawn 
with  turf  as  green  and  velvety  as  that  of  Eng- 
land, and  parterres  of  flowers  laid  out  in  all 
manner  of  geometrical  figures.  From  a  court 
basking  in  sunshine,  two  beautiful  Renaissance 
doors  lead  into  the  castle.  Through  one  of  them 
we  passed  into  a  small  room  in  which  the  inev- 
itable postcards  and  souvenirs  were  sold  by  a 
pretty  little  dark-eyed  French  woman,  who 
acted  as  our  guide  through  the  castle.  We 
begged  her  to  stand  near  the  vine-decked  door- 
way to  have  her  photograph  taken,  which  she 
did  with  cheerful  alacrity.  Some  soldiers,  who 
were  buying  souvenirs,  stepped  through  the 
doorway  just  in  time  to  come  into  the  picture, 
their  red  uniforms  adding  a  delightful  touch  of 
color  as  they  stood  out  against  the  gray  walls 
of  the  chateau.  It  was  a  charming  scene  which 

90 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


we  hoped  to  be  able  to  send  you,  but  alas!  a 
cloud  passed  over  the  sun,  and  this,  with  the 
dark  stone  background,  made  too  dull  a  setting, 
and  by  the  time  the  sun  was  out  again  our 
guide  was  in  request  to  take  a  party  of  tourists 
through  the  chateau,  ourselves  among  them. 
Langeais  is  so  popular  during  this  busy  touring 
season  that  hours  and  turns  are  strictly 
observed. 

One  of  the  soldiers  is  evidently  the  cher  ami 
of  our  pretty  Eloisa,  who  waved  her  little  hand 
to  him  as  she  sent  a  coquettish  glance  from  her 
fine  eyes  in  his  direction,  and  threw  him  a  kiss, 
after  which  she  applied  herself  to  her  task  as 
cicerone,  conducting  us  from  room  to  room, 
enlarging  upon  the  history  and  associations  of 
the  chateau,  and  explaining  to  us  that  of  the 
original  castle,  built  by  Foulques  Nerra,  or 
"Fulk  the  Black,"  in  990,  only  the  ruinous 
donjon  keep  is  to  be  seen  beyond  the  gardens. 
The  present  chateau  is  of  much  later  date,  and 
was  built  by  Jean  Bourre,  comptroller  of  the 
finances  for  Normandy  under  Louis  XI,  who 
was  granted  letters  patent  of  nobility  and  the 
captaincy  of  Langeais  about  1465.  After 
listening  to  thrilling  tales  of  the  barbarous 
cruelty  of  Fulk  the  Black,  Count  of  Anjou,  who 

100 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

had  his  first  wife  burned  at  the  stake  and  made 
himself  very  disagreeable  in  other  ways,  as  our 
guide  naively  remarked  in  French  of  the  purest 
Touraine  brand,  Lydia  exclaimed,  "The  more 
perfect  the  French,  the  easier  it  is  to  under- 
stand!" 

"It  is  all  the  same  to  me,  good  or  bad," 
groaned  Walter  in  reply  to  Lydia 's  Ollendorf 
phrase,  uttering  quite  audible  animadversions 
against  foreign  languages  in  general  and  the 
French  in  particular,  which  our  guide  fortu- 
nately did  not  comprehend,  especially  as  he 
concluded  with  a  crushing  comparison,  "Why 
are  not  all  the  guides  like  that  wonderful  little 
woman  at  the  Castle  of  Chillon,  who  told  her 
story  in  English,  French,  and  German  with 
equal  fluency  and  facility?" 

"Why,  indeed!"  echoed  Miss  Cassandra, 
who  being  a  fellow  sufferer  is  most  sympathetic. 

It  certainly  is  exasperating  to  a  degree  to 
have  the  interesting  history  and  traditions 
given  forth  in  a  language  that  one  does  not 
understand,  and  with  such  rapidity  that  if  those 
who  are  able  to  grasp  the  meaning  attempt  to 
translate  they  quite  lose  the  thread  of  the  dis- 
course and  are  left  far  behind  in  the  story. 

As  we  passed  through  the  great  halls  and 
101 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


spacious  rooms  with  timbered  ceilings,  tapes- 
tried walls,  and  beautifully  tiled  floors,  we  were 
impressed  with  the  combination  of  medieval 
strength  and  homelike  comfort,  especially  in 
the  living  rooms  and  bedrooms.  The  graceful 
mural  decorations  of  flowers  and  cherries  in 
the  Salon  des  Fleurs  are  in  strong  contrast 
with  the  massive  woodwork  and  the  heavy 
carved  furniture,  and  yet  the  ensemble  is  quite 
harmonious.  In  the  guard  room  we  noticed  a 
fine  frieze  in  which  the  arms  of  Anne  of  Brit- 
tany are  interwoven  with  her  motto,  "Potius 
Mori  quam  Fwdari!" 

From  this  and  much  more  in  the  line  of 
careful  restoration  and  rich  decoration  and  fur- 
nishing, you  may  believe  that  the  interior  of 
Langeais  has  undergone  a  transformation,  at 
the  hands  of  several  owners  of  the  chateau,  since 
the  days  when  Mr.  Henry  James  spoke  of  its 
apartments  as  ''not  of  first-class  interest."  M. 
Christophe  Baron  and  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Jacques  Siegfried  have,  while  preserving  the 
distinctive  characteristics  of  an  ancient  fortress, 
made  of  Langeais  an  entirely  livable  chateau. 

Just  here  we  are  reminded  by  our  historians 
that  we  Anglo-Saxons  have  a  link  far  back  in 
102 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

our  own  history  with  Langeais  and  the  cruel 
Fulk,  Duke  of  Anjou,  as  one  of  his  descendants 
married  Matilda,  daughter  of  Henry  I,  of 
England,  and  their  grandson  was  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion,  who  was  Count  of  Touraine  and  Lord 
of  Langeais  as  well  as  King  of  England. 

In  the  beautiful  long  salon,  with  its  wonder- 
ful sixteenth  century  tapestries  and  handsomely 
carved  Spanish  choir  stalls,  our  guide  became 
especially  eloquent,  telling  us  that  this  was  the 
room  in  which  Charles  VIII  and  Anne  de 
Bretagne  were  married,  the  inlaid  table  in  the 
centre  being  that  upon  which  the  marriage  con- 
tract was  signed. 

"What  is  the  little  black-eyed  woman  talk- 
ing about?"  asked  Miss  Cassandra,  in  a  most 
pathetic  tone.  Fortunately,  our  cicerone  gave 
us  more  time  in  this  room  than  in  the  others, 
and  as  we  stood  by  the  windows  which  look  out 
upon  the  court  and  gardens,  a  blaze  of  color  in 
the  September  sunshine,  Lydia  and  I  tried  to 
explain  about  the  very  remarkable  marriage 
solemnized  in  this  chateau  between  the  heiress 
of  Brittany  and  the  young  King  of  France. 

Odd  as  royal  marriages  usually  are,  this  was 
especially  melodramatic,  as  the  royal  lover 

103 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


seems  to  have  set  forth  to  meet  the  lady  of  his 
choice  with  a  sword  in  one  hand  and  a  wedding 
ring  in  the  other. 

The  hand  of  the  young  Duchess  of  Brittany 
was  naturally  sought  after  by  many  princes, 
who  looked  with  longing  eyes  upon  her  rich 
inheritance,  in  addition  to  which,  as  Bran  tome 
says,  she  was  renowned  for  her  beauty  and 
grace,  which  latter  was  not  impaired  by  the  fact 
that  one  leg  was  shorter  than  the  other.  She 
was  also  learned,  according  to  the  learning  of 
her  day,  and  clever,  which  circumstances  prob- 
ably weighed  lighter  than  vanity  when  put  in 
the  scale  against  the  wealth  of  the  Duchy  of 
Brittany.  Among  the  various  pretendants  to 
the  hand  of  the  Duchess  was  Louis,  Duke  of 
Orleans,  who  as  next  in  succession  to  his 
cousin  Charles  was  a  suitor  quite  worthy  of 
the  hand  of  this  high-born  lady.  Feats  of 
valor  had  been  performed  by  Louis  in  Brit- 
tany earlier  in  his  career,  which  of  course 
reached  the  ears  of  Anne,  who  like  every  woman 
of  spirit  admired  a  hero,  when  lo!  misfortune 
of  misfortunes,  he  was  taken  prisoner  at  the 
battle  of  St.  Aubin,  where  he  fought  bravely  at 
the  head  of  his  infantry.  This  capture  must  have 

104 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

been  a  sad  blow  to  the  hopes  of  the  young 
Duke  of  Orleans,  as  Maximilian,  Duke  of  Aus- 
tria, promptly  stepped  in  and  claimed  the  hand 
of  the  Breton  heiress ;  but  even  this  wooing  was 
not  destined  to  prosper,  as  Charles  VIII,  who 
had  just  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  France,  sud- 
denly announced  that  he  was  the  proper  person 
to  wed  the  Duchess  Anne  and  her  possessions, 
and  promptly  breaking  his  engagement  with 
Margaret  of  Austria,  set  forth  upon  his  war- 
like wooing.  She,  poor  girl,  would  probably 
have  preferred  any  one  of  her  suitors  to  the 
boy  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  misshapen  and  igno- 
rant, says  a  chronicler  of  the  time,  and  so 
feeble  in  body  that  his  father,  despairing  of  his 
holding  the  throne,  had  arranged  a  marriage 
between  the  next  heir,  this  same  Duke  of 
Orleans,  and  his  daughter,  Jeanne  of  France. 
The  young  Duchess,  an  heiress  in  her  own  right, 
and  possessed  of  a  decided  will  of  her  own,  as 
appeared  later,  was  singularly  hampered  in  the 
choice  of  a  consort,  several  eligible  suitors  being 
separated  from  her  by  the  armies  of  Charles, 
who,  closely  besieging  the  town  of  Bennes, 
demanded  her  hand  at  the  point  of  the  sword. 
Thus  wooed,  Anne  reluctantly  consented  to 

105 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


become  Queen  of  France,  and  was  secretly  be- 
trothed to  Charles  at  Eennes. 

If  the  betrothal  of  Charles  and  Anne  was 
accomplished  with  scant  ceremony,  their  mar- 
riage at  Langeais  was  celebrated  in  due  form. 
The  bride,  accompanied  by  a  distinguished  suite, 
is  described,  as  she  arrived  at  the  chateau  upon 
her  palfrey,  wearing  a  rich  travelling  costume 
of  cloth  and  velvet,  trimmed  with  one  hundred 
and  thirty-nine  sable  skins.  Her  wedding  dress 
of  cloth  of  gold  was  even  more  sumptuous,  as 
it  was  adorned  with  one  hundred  and  sixty 
sable  skins.  Fortunately  for  the  comfort  of 
the  wearer,  the  wedding  was  in  December,  and 
in  these  stone  buildings,  destitute  of  adequate 
heating  arrangements,  fur  garments  must  have 
been  particularly  comfortable.  The  nuptial 
benediction  was  pronounced  by  the  Bishop  of 
Angers,  probably  in  a  chapel  which  was  for- 
merly in  the  southwest  wing  of  the  chateau,  and 
in  the  presence  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  the 
Duke  of  Bourbon,  the  Chancellor  of  France  and 
other  nobles  of  high  degree,  among  them  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  afterwards  Louis  XII,  who 
was  destined  to  become  the  second  husband  of 
Anne.  One  of  the  articles  of  the  marriage  con- 

106 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

tract  signed  in  this  room  at  Langeais  was  that 
if  Charles  should  die  without  issue  Anne  should 
marry  the  next  heir  to  the  crown,  thus  uniting 
Brittany  indissolubly  with  France. 

Brantome  described  the  fourteen-year-old 
bride  as  pretty,  with  black  eyes,  well-marked 
eyebrows,  black  hair,  fresh  complexion  and  a 
dimpled  chin,  but  as  Lydia  says,  one  cannot 
always  trust  Brantome,  as  he  painted  Catherine 
de  Medici  whom  he  beheld  with  his  mortal  eyes 
in  all  the  glory  of  the  lily  and  rose,  and  later, 
when  he  saw  Queen  Elizabeth  in  London,  he 
wrote  of  her  as  beautiful  and  of  lofty  bearing. 
It  is  quite  evident  that  Brantome 's  eyes  were 
bedazzled  by  the  glitter  of  royalty,  or  was  it 
the  glitter  of  royal  gold? 

"Well,  whether  or  not  Anne  was  beautiful, 
it  is  a  comfort  to  have  her  safely  married  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  confusion  and  warfare, ' '  said 
Miss  Cassandra,  with  the  satisfied  air  of  a 
mother  who  has  just  made  an  eligible  marriage 
for  her  daughter. 

"But  we  have  not  done  with  her  yet,"  ex- 
claimed Lydia.  "We  shall  meet  her  and  her 
ermine  tails  and  tasseled  ropes  in  every  chateau 
of  the  Loire,  and  at  Amboise  we  shall  go  a  step 

107 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


further  in  her  history,  and  only  reach  the  last 
chapter  at  Blois." 

From  the  mediaeval  fortress,  with  its  wealth 
of  French  and  English  history  that  Lydia  and 
our  guide  poured  into  our  willing  ears,  we 
crossed  the  Rue  Gambetta  to  the  little  Cafe 
Rabelais,  opposite  the  entrance  to  the  chateau, 
where  we  spent  a  cheerful  quart  d'heure  over 
cups  of  tea,  and  classic  buns  that  are  temptingly 
displayed  in  the  window.  Although  this  genial 
reformed  monk,  as  Walter  is  pleased  to  call 
Eabelais,  was  born  at  Chinon,  he  seems  to  have 
lived  at  Langeais  at  two  different  periods  of  his 
wandering  and  eventful  life,  Guillaume,  Sieur 
de  Langeais,  having  given  him  a  cottage  near 
the  chateau. 

Having  come  to  Langeais  by  train  we  en- 
gaged a  hack  to  convey  us  to  Azay-le-Rideau,  a 
drive  of  about  six  miles.  As  we  drove  over  a 
long  bridge  that  crosses  the  Loire,  we  had 
another  view  of  the  chateau,  with  its  three  mas- 
sive towers,  many  chimneys,  and  of  the  wide 
shining  river  that  flows  beside  it,  bordered  by 
tall  poplars  and  dotted  with  green  islets.  Our 
drive  was  through  a  level  farming  land,  where 
men  and  women  were  at  work  cutting  grass  and 

108 


£ 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAtJ 

turning  over  the  long  rows  of  yellow  flax  which 
were  drying  in  the  sun.  Here  again  we  saw 
many  women  with  the  large  baskets  or  hottes  on 
their  backs,  as  if  to  remind  us  that  the  burden- 
bearers  are  not  all  of  Italy,  for  the  women  of 
France  work  quite  as  hard  as  the  men,  more 
constantly  it  would  seem,  if  we  may  judge  by 
the  number  of  men  who  are  to  be  seen  loafing 
about  the  little  inns  and  cabarets. 

Across  the  wide,  low-lying  fields  and  pasture 
lands,  we  could  see  the  long  line  of  foliage  that 
marks  the  forest  of  Chambord.  All  these  great 
country  palaces  of  the  kings  and  nobles  of 
France  were  comparatively  near  each  other, 
" quite  within  visiting  distance,'*  as  Miss  Cas- 
sandra says.  As  we  walked  along  the  avenue 
of  horse-chestnut  trees,  and  over  the  little 
bridge  that  spans  the  Indre,  we  felt  that  no 
'site  could  have  been  better  chosen  for  the  build- 
ing of  a  palace  of  pleasure  than  this.  With  a 
background  of  forest  trees,  a  river  flowing 
around  it,  the  stone  walls  and  bridges  draped 
with  a  brilliant  crimson  curtain  of  American 
ivy,  the  Chateau  of  Azay-le-Eideau  justifies 
Balzac's  enthusiastic  description:  "A  diamond 
with  a  thousand  facets,  with  the  Indre  for  a 

109 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


setting  and  perched  on  piles  buried  in  flowers." 
Yet  this  gay  palace,  like  most  of  the  chateaux 
of  the  Loire,  has  arisen  upon  the  foundations 
of  a  fortress,  and  its  odd  name  was  given  it 
in  honor  of  a  certain  Hughes  Eidel  or  Bideau, 
who  in  the  thirteenth  century  built  a  castle  on 
an  island  to  defend  the  passage  of  the  Indre, 
the  position  being  an  important  one  strategic- 
ally. When  our  old  Dijon  friend,  Jean  Sans- 
Peur,  came  this  way  in  1417,  he  took  care  to 
place  a  garrison  of  several  hundred  men  at 
Azay.  These  Burgundian  soldiers,  having  a 
high  opinion  of  the  strength  of  the  castle  and 
of  their  own  prowess,  undertook  to  jeer  at  the 
Dauphin,  afterwards  Charles  VII,  as  he  passed 
by  on  his  way  from  Chinon  to  Tours,  upon 
which  he  laid  siege  to  Azay  and  captured  and 
meted  out  summary  vengeance  upon  those  who 
had  mocked  at  and  insulted  him.  The  story 
told  to  us  sounds,  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  like 
a  chapter  from  the  Chronicles  or  the  Book  of 
Kings,  for  although  a  great  bear  did  not  come 
out  of  the  woods  and  devour  those  wicked  mock- 
ers, they  were  hanged,  every  one,  their  captain 
was  beheaded  and  the  castle  razed  to  the  ground. 
Upon  the  piles  of  the  old  fortress  the  Chateau 
no 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

of  Azay  arose  to  please  the  fancy  of  a  certain 
Gilles  Berthold,  a  relative  of  the  Bohier  who 
built  the  Chateau  of  Chenonceaux,  and  like  him 
a  minister  of  Finance. 

Built  upon  an  island,  the  slow  flowing  Indre 
forms  a  natural  moat  around  the  castle,  or  as 
Balzac  expresses  it  more  picturesquely,  "This 
most  charming  and  elaborate  of  the  chateaux 
of  beautiful  Touraine  ever  bathes  itself  in  the 
Indre,  like  a  princely  galley  adorned  with  lace- 
like  pavilions  and  windows,  and  with  pretty 
soldiers  on  its  weathercocks,  turning,  like  all 
soldiers,  whichever  way  the  wind  blows."  The 
lace-like  effect  that  Balzac  speaks  of  evidently 
refers  to  the  exquisite  carving  on  the  walls  and 
around  the  windows,  and  upon  the  graceful 
corner  towers  of  the  chateau.  Here,  over  the 
driveway  and  in  other  places,  are  the  sala- 
mander of  Francis  I  and  the  ermine  of  his  wife, 
Claude  of  Brittany,  who  died  before  the  chateau 
was  completed.  Francis  lived  to  use  and  enjoy 
Azay  in  the  hunting  season,  as  did  other 
sovereigns. 

The  architect,  whose  name  seems  to  have 
been  lost  sight  of  amid  much  discussion  and 
some  chicanery  with  regard  to  the  possession  of 
111 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


the  chateau,  was  a  wise  man  in  his  day  and 
instead  of  attempting  to  unite  the  feudal  for- 
tress and  the  hunting  seat,  as  Le  Nepveu  was 
doing  at  Chambord,  he  was  content  to  make  of 
Azay-le-Rideau  a  palace  of  pleasure.  Indeed, 
he  seems  to  have  allowed  his  fancy  free  play 
in  the  construction  of  this  chateau,  with  the 
result  that  he  has  made  of  it  a  dwelling  place 
of  great  beauty,  richly  decorated  but  never 
overloaded  with  ornament.  Even  the  chimney 
tops  are  broidered  over  with  graceful  designs 
and  covered  with  a  fine  basket  work  in  metal. 

A  true  gem  of  the  French  Renaissance  is 
Azay-le-Rideau,  so  the  learned  in  architecture 
tell  us,  and  yet  enough  of  the  old  fortress  con- 
struction has  been  preserved  to  add  strength 
and  compactness  to  the  fairy-like  beauty  of 
this  chateau. 

Through  the  handsome  double  doorway 
above  which  the  salamander  of  Francis  breathes 
forth  its  device,  "Nutrisco  et  extingo,"  we 
passed  into  the  beautiful  hall  and  up  the  grand 
staircase,  with  its  sculptured  vaults  of  stone, 
rich  beyond  compare,  adorned  with  medallions 
of  royal  faces  and  decorations  of  fruits,  flowers, 
and  heraldic  emblems.  Miss  Cassandra,  being 
112 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

somewhat  fatigued  after  our  ramble  through 
Langeais,  sat  down  upon  the  steps  to  enjoy  at 
leisure  the  delicate  beauty  of  the  ornamentation 
of  the  stairway,  declaring  that  she  was  quite 
ready  to  take  up  her  abode  here,  as  this  chateau 
fulfilled  all  the  requirements  of  a  pleasant  coun- 
try home,  and  after  reading  Madame  Wadding- 
ton  's  book  she  had  always  wished  to  try  chateau 
life  in  France. 

Lydia  and  I  objected,  for  after  the  complete 
and  harmonious  furnishing  of  Langeais  the 
interior  of  Azay-le-Rideau  seems  a  trifle  bare, 
as  only  two  or  three  of  the  rooms  are  thor- 
oughly furnished.  As  the  property  now 
belongs  to  the  State  and  is  in  the  care  of 
L'Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  which  is  gradually 
collecting  rare  and  beautiful  articles  of  furni- 
ture, this  compact  little  chateau  will  soon  be 
completely  equipped  as  a  Renaissance  museum. 

The  room  of  Francis  I  is  shown,  with  hand- 
some carved  bed  and  rich  hangings  of  turquoise 
blue  damask,  adjoining  it  the  room  in  which 
Louis  XIV  slept,  which  is  hung  in  crimson 
damask.  These  rooms,  with  some  fine  tapes- 
tries, scattered  articles  of  furniture  and  a 
number  of  portraits,  complete  the  present 

113 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


equipment  of  Azay-le-Rideau.  Among  the  por- 
traits that  interested  us  was  one  of  Catherine  de 
Medicis  by  Clouet,  and  another  by  the  same 
artist  of  Francis  I,  as  he  so  often  appears  in 
his  portraits,  "with  the  insufferable  smile  upon 
his  lips  that  curl  upward  satyr-like  towards 
the  narrow  eyes,  the  crisp  close-cut  brownish 
beard  and  the  pink  silken  sleeves  and  doublet." 
Near  by,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  sensual  face 
of  Francis,  hangs  the  clear-cut  face  of  Calvin. 
Here  also  are  the  portraits  of  Henry  of  Navarre 
and  the  wife  for  whom  he  cared  so  little,  the 
beautiful  Marguerite  of  Valois,  less  beautiful 
in  her  portrait  than  one  would  expect,  and  of 
the  woman  whom  he  loved  so  deeply,  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees,  Duchess  of  Beaufort. 

A  charm  of  romance  ever  surrounds  the 
graceful  figure  of  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  whom 
the  usually  inconstant  Henry  seems  to  have 
loved  tenderly  and  faithfully  to  the  end  of  her 
days.  Many  persons  have  excused  this  connec- 
tion of  the  King  with  la  belle  Gabrielle  because 
of  his  loveless  and  enforced  marriage  with  his 
cousin  Marguerite,  who  was  faithful  to  her 
royal  husband  only  when  his  life  or  his  throne 
were  in  danger.  At  such  times  she  would  fly  to 

114 


LANGEAIS  AND  AZAY-LE-RIDEAU 

his  aid  like  a  good  comrade.  The  handsomest 
and  the  most  brilliant  and  daring  of  the  unfor- 
tunate and  ill-fated  brood  of  the  dreadful 
Catherine,  Marguerite  seems  to  have  been  par- 
ticularly happy  when  she  was  able  to  thwart 
the  malicious  designs  of  her  mother,  from  whose 
plots  the  King  of  Navarre  so  often  escaped  that 
he  was  said  to  have  borne  a  charmed  life. 

As  we  quitted  the  chateau  to  wander  through 
its  lovely  gardens,  gay  with  many  flowers,  and 
over  the  lawn  with  its  fine  copper  beeches,  ex- 
quisite mimosa  trees,  hemlocks,  and  delicate 
larches,  we  thought  of  the  many  great  lords  and 
noble  ladies  who  had  walked  over  this  fair 
demesne  and,  like  us,  had  stopped  to  enjoy  the 
soft  breezes  by  the  side  of  the  little  river  where 
the  birches  spread  their  long  branches  over  the 
gently  flowing  stream.  So  near  the  great  world 
and  yet  so  retired  from  it,  it  is  not  strange  that 
Francis,  and  the  kings  who  followed  him,  should 
have  often  turned  from  the  turmoil  and  unrest 
of  the  court  to  enjoy  this  happy  valley. 

We  were  tempted  to  linger  so  long  in  the 
grounds  that  we  had  only  a  short  time  to  spend 
in  the  interesting  eleventh  century  church 
which  adjoins  the  park  and,  like  the  chateau, 

115 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


belongs  to  the  State.  The  fa§ade  of  the  church 
is  richly  decorated  with  quaint  statuettes  and 
carvings,  and  here  also  is  a  seigniorial  chapel 
with  inscriptions  of  the  Biencourt  family  who 
owned  the  chateau  of  Azay-le-Eideau  before  it 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  government. 

Our  appetite  for  chateaux  has  so  increased 
with  the  seeing  of  them  that  we  regretted  not 
having  time  to  go  to  Usse  this  same  afternoon, 
but  we  shall  have  to  make  a  separate  trip  to  this 
palace,  which  is  said  to  be  a  superb  example  of 
Gothic  architecture.  Although  the  chateau  is 
often  inhospitably  closed  to  visitors,  its  exte- 
rior, with  innumerable  towers  and  tourelles,  and 
the  terraces,  gardens,  and  vast  park,  nearly 
seven  miles  in  circumference,  are  well  worth  a 
visit. 

As  usual,  the  afternoon  was  not  long  enough, 
and  the  shortening  September  light  warned  us 
that  we  must  take  a  train  from  the  station  at 
Azay-le-Rideau  about  six  in  order  to  reach 
Tours  in  time  for  dinner. 


VII 

TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 


PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  September  5th. 

THIS  morning  we  spent  at  the  Chateau  of 
Amboise,  which  we  reached  by  crossing  two 
bridges  over  the  Loire,  as  the  wide  river  is 
divided  at  this  point  by  the  Isle  St.  Jean.  None 
of  all  these  beautiful  royal  castles  owes  more  to 
the  Loire  than  Amboise,  whose  magnificent 
round  machiolated  tower  commands  the  ap- 
proaches to  the  bridge,  while  the  fine  pointed 
windows  and  arched  balcony  give  a  fairy-land 
lightness  and  grace  to  the  adjoining  facade 
which  crowns  a  bluff  high  above  the  river. 

We  reached  the  chateau  by  many  hillside 
steps,  and  through  a  garden  which  stands  so 
high  upon  its  terrace  above  the  street  that  it 
seems,  like  the  famous  gardens  of  Babylon,  to 
hang  in  the  air.  Upon  a  nearer  view  we  found 
that  the  garden  rests  upon  a  solid  foundation  of 
rock  and  earth,  and  is  surrounded  by  strong 
walls  and  parapets  of  masonry.  From  these 

117 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


walls  the  light  buttresses  of  the  little  Chapel  of 
St.  Hubert  spring.  This  lovely  chapel,  which 
with  its  fine  delicate  spire  and  chiselled  pin- 
nacles, standing  out  against  the  blue  sky,  gives 
an  effect  of  indescribable  beauty,  was  built  by 
Charles  VIII  after  his  return  from  Italy.  The 
wonderful  carvings  above  the  doorway,  repre- 
senting St.  Hubert's  miraculous  encounter  with 
a  stag,  were  doubtless  executed  by  Italian  work- 
men whom  he  brought  with  him,  as  only  skilled 
hands  could  have  produced  a  result  so  rich  and 
decorative  and  yet  so  exquisitely  fine  and  deli- 
cate. Other  beautiful  carvings  ornament  the 
facade  and  the  interior  of  the  chapel,  which  in 
form  is  a  miniature  Sainte  Chapel,  less  brilliant 
in  color  and  richer  in  carving  than  the  ancient 
Chapel  of  St.  Louis,  in  Paris. 

A  cheerful  chateau,  perched  upon  a  rock 
and  bathed  in  sunshine,  Amboise  appeared  to 
us  to-day,  whether  we  looked  at  it  from  the 
bridge  or  from  the  garden,  with  nothing  to 
remind  us  of  the  sad  and  tragic  events  in  its 
history.  This  we  are  told  reaches  back  to  the 
time  of  Julius  Cassar,  who,  recognizing  the 
strategic  value  of  this  high  bluff  above  the 
Loire,  built  a  strong  tower  here.  Upon  the 

118 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

well-wooded  Isle  St.  Jean,  directly  opposite  the 
chateau,  Clovis  and  Alaric  are  said  to  have  held 
an  important  conference,  and  our  own  good 
King  Arthur  is  credited  with  owning  the  Castle 
of  Amboise  at  one  time,  and  of  graciously  re- 
turning it  to  the  Franks  before  he  sailed  away 
to  conquer  Mordred  and  to  meet  his  own  death 
upon  the  Isle  of  Avalon.  All  of  these  tales  we 
may  believe  or  not  as  we  please,  for  Touraine  is 
full  of  ancient  legends,  more  or  less  credible, 
and  especially  rich  in  those  pertaining  to  Caesar 
and  his  conquests,  and  of  the  beloved  St. 
Martin's  miraculous  success  in  destroying  the 
conqueror's  towns,  landmarks,  and  images  of 
the  gods. 

While  Lydia  was  gloating  over  the  very 
ancient  history  of  Amboise,  Walter  and  I  were 
glad  to  connect  it  with  a  later  time  when  Louis 
VII  met  Thomas  a  Becket  here  with  a  view  to 
bringing  about  a  reconciliation  between  the 
proud  prelate  and  his  lord  and  master,  Henry  II 
of  England.  This  meeting  seemed  compara- 
tively recent,  after  the  shadowy  traditions  of 
Caesar  and  St.  Martin  that  were  poured  into  our 
ears,  and  we  began  to  feel  quite  at  home  in  the 
castle  when  we  learned  that  our  old  friend  of 

119 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Langeais,  Charles  VIII,  was  born  at  Amboise 
and  spent  his  childhood  here  under  the  care  of 
his  good  and  clever  mother,  Charlotte  of  Savoy. 
She  taught  him  all  that  he  was  permitted  to 
learn,  his  father,  the  crafty  Louis  XI,  for  some 
reason  only  known  to  himself,  desiring  his  son 
and  heir  to  grow  up  in  ignorance  of  books  as 
well  as  of  the  world  of  men. 

After  her  marriage  at  Langeais,  Anne  de 
Bretagne  made  a  right  royal  progress  to  St. 
Denis,  where  she  was  anointed  and  crowned 
with  great  state  and  ceremony,  the  crown,  which 
was  far  too  heavy  for  the  head  of  the  little 
Queen  of  fourteen,  being  held  over  her  by  the 
Duke  of  Orleans.  The  new  Queen,  after  making 
a  solemn  entrance  into  Paris  and  receiving  the 
homage  of  all  the  civil  and  military  officers  of 
the  Chatelet,  the  Provost  of  Paris,  and  of  many 
other  dignitaries,  returned  with  her  husband  to 
Amboise,  where  most  of  their  married  life  was 
spent.  Additions  were  made  to  the  chateau  at 
this  time  and  its  interior  was  fitted  up  with 
great  splendor;  thousands  of  yards  of  cloth  of 
gold,  silk,  tapestries  from  Flanders,  and  other 
precious  stuffs  were  used  as  hangings,  to  the 
amount  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  says  one  chron- 
120 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

icier.  "Past  and  contemporary  events  were 
portrayed  on  the  tapestries.  Andre  Denisot 
and  Guillaume  Menagier,  workers  of  Tours,  had 
charge  of  the  furnishing ;  one  room  by  Menagier 
was  hung  with  silk  tapestry  on  which  the  history 
of  Moses  was  represented,  and  the  floor  was 
covered  with  a  large,  fine  silk  Moorish  carpet. ' ' 
All  this,  and  much  more  in  the  way  of  rich  fur- 
nishings and  handsome  silver,  was  brought  to 
the  old  castle  to  do  honor  to  the  Bretonne  bride, 
who  was  destined  to  know  little  happiness  in 
her  new  home.  Her  eldest  son,  the  Dauphin 
Charles,  who  was  described  by  Philippe  de 
Commines  as  "a  fine  child,  bold  in  speech,  and 
fearing  not  the  things  other  children  are  fright- 
ened at,"  a  child  whose  birth  was  hailed  with 
rejoicing  as  an  heir  to  the  Duchy  of  Brittany 
and  the  Kingdom  of  France,  fell  ill  and  died  at 
Amboise  while  his  mother  was  near  the  frontier 
of  Italy  celebrating  the  King's  recent  victories. 
A  curious  story  is  told  by  Brantome  about  the 
mourning  of  the  King  and  Queen  for  this 
beloved  son. 

" After  the  death  of  the  Dauphin,"  says  this 
chronicler,  "King  Charles  and  his  Queen  were 
full  of  such  desolate  grief  that  the  doctors,  fear- 

121 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ing  the  weakness  and  feeble  constitution  of  the 
King,  were  of  opinion  that  excess  of  sorrow 
might  be  prejudicial  to  his  health;  they  there- 
fore advised  as  many  distractions  as  possible, 
and  suggested  that  the  princes  at  court  should 
invent  new  pastimes,  dances,  and  mummeries  to 
give  pleasure  to  the  King  and  Queen,  which 
being  done,  the  Monseigneur  d 'Orleans  devised 
a  masquerade  with  dances,  in  which  he  danced 
with  such  gaiety  and  so  played  the  fool  that 
the  Queen  thought  he  was  making  merry 
because  he  was  nearer  the  throne  of  France, 
seeing  that  the  Dauphin  was  dead.  She  was 
extremely  displeased,  and  looked  on  him  with 
such  aversion  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
Amboise,  where  the  court  then  was,  and  go  to 
his  Castle  of  Blois." 

This  was,  as  Walter  remarks,  rather  shabby 
treatment  of  a  royal  prince  and  a  former  suitor ; 
but  the  little  Queen  was  hot  tempered, 
strong  in  her  likes  and  aversions,  and  never 
unmindful  of  the  fact  that  she  was  Duchess  of 
Brittany  in  her  own  right,  as  well  as  Queen  of 
France  by  her  marriage. 

Lydia  reminds  us  that  the  unappreciated 
Duke  of  Orleans  had  his  innings  later  when  he 
122 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

became  King,  after  the  death  of  Charles,  and 
the  second  husband  of  Anne.  You  may  notice 
that  we  are  quite  up  on  the  history  of  Anne  of 
Brittany,  as  we  came  across  a  charming  biog- 
raphy of  her  at  Brentano's  in  Paris,  A  Twice 
Crowned  Queen,  by  the  Countess  de  la  Warr,  in 
addition  to  which  we  have  been  looking  over  an 
old  copy  of  Brantome  that  we  found  at  a  book 
store  here. 

In  the  three  years  following  the  death  of  the 
Dauphin  two  sons  and  a  daughter  were  born 
to  Charles  and  Anne.  These  children  all  died 
in  infancy.  "In  vain,"  says  the  Countess  de  la 
Warr,  * '  did  Anne  take  every  precaution  to  save 
the  lives  of  these  little  creatures  whom  death 
snatched  from  her  so  ruthlessly.  She  sum- 
moned nurses  from  Brittany,  and  the  supersti- 
tious beliefs  of  her  own  country  came  back  to 
her  mind.  She  presented  them  with  amulets,  a 
Guienne  crown  piece  wrapped  up  in  paper,  a 
piece  of  black  wax  in  a  bag  of  cloth  of  gold,  six 
serpents '  tongues, — a  large  one,  two  of  medium 
size,  and  three  little  ones, — and  rosaries  of 
chalcedony  and  jasper;  she  not  only  sent  votive 
offerings  to  the  venerated  shrines  of  the  saints 
in  Brittany,  and  presented  rich  gifts  every  year 

123 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


to  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Auray,  but  she  went  her- 
self on  a  pilgrimage.  Alas!  it  was  all  to  no 
purpose;  a  relentless  fate  followed  the  poor 
Queen." 

A  still  heavier  blow  was  destined  to  fall 
upon  Anne,  a  few  years  later,  in  the  death  of 
her  husband,  to  whom  she  seems  to  have  been 
devotedly  attached.  In  the  midst  of  his  work 
of  beautifying  Amboise  with  the  spoils  of  his 
Italian  wars,  Charles  was  suddenly  struck  down 
with  apoplexy,  induced  it  is  thought  by  a  blow. 
He  hit  his  head,  never  a  very  strong  one,  accord- 
ing to  all  accounts,  against  the  stone  arch  of  a 
little  doorway  and  died  a  few  hours  after.  We 
were  shown  the  entrance  to  the  Galerie 
Hacquelebac  where  the  King  met  with  his  fatal 
accident  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  tennis 
court  with  the  Queen  and  his  confessor,  the 
Bishop  of  Angers.  The  door,  which  was  very 
low  at  that  time,  was  later  raised  and  decorated 
with  the  porcupine  of  Louis  XII. 

The  little  widow,  not  yet  twenty-one,  was  so 
overcome  with  grief  at  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band that  she  spent  her  days  and  nights  in  tears 
and  lamentations.  The  only  comfort  that  she 
found  was  in  ordering  a  magnificent  funeral  for 

124 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

Charles,  to  every  detail  of  which  Louis 
d  'Orleans,  the  new  King,  attended  with  scrupu- 
lous care,  defraying  himself  the  whole  cost,  not 
only  of  the  ceremony  itself,  but  of  that  incurred 
in  conveying  the  body  from  Amboise  to  St. 
Denis.  Even  this  devotion  on  the  part  of  her 
husband's  successor  did  not  satisfy  the  Queen, 
as  she  redoubled  her  lamentations  upon  seeing 
him,  and  although  he  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  comfort  her  in  the  most  winning  way, 
she  still  refused  to  eat  or  sleep  and  insisted 
between  her  sobs:  "Je  dois  suivre  le  chemin 
de  mon  mari!"  which  for  some  reason  sounds 
infinitely  more  pathetic  than  the  plain  English, 
* '  I  must  follow  the  way  of  my  husband. ' ' 

The  way  of  the  beloved  Charles  Anne  was 
not  destined  to  follow,  as  we  find  her,  in  less 
than  a  year,  following  in  the  way  of  his  succes- 
sor, Louis  XII.  The  enforced  and  altogether 
unhappy  marriage  between  Louis  and  his 
cousin,  Jeanne  of  France,  having  been  annulled 
by  Alexander  VI,  in  return  for  certain  honors 
conferred  upon  his  son,  Caesar  Borgia,  and  the 
decree  of  separation  having  been  pronounced 
by  him  at  Chinon,  Louis  d 'Orleans  was  free  to 
offer  his  heart  and  his  hand  to  the  lady  of  his 

125 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


choice.  This  he  did  with  all  despatch,  and  was 
as  promptly  accepted  by  the  widowed  Queen. 

The  marriage  of  Louis  XII  and  Anne  was 
solemnized  in  her  own  castle,  at  Nantes,  Jan- 
uary 8,  1499,  less  than  nine  months  after  the 
death  of  her  husband.  The  Queen  bestowed 
rich  gifts  upon  the  churches  of  Brittany,  the 
King  having  already  conferred  upon  the  Pope's 
representative,  Caesar  Borgia,  a  pension  of 
twenty  thousand  gold  crowns,  besides  which  he 
created  him  Duke  of  Valentinois. 

"All  this  goes  to  prove,"  as  Miss  Cassandra 
says,  "that  bribery  and  corruption  in  high 
places  are  not  strictly  modern  methods,  since 
this  good  King  Louis,  called  the  Father  of  his 
people,  resorted  to  them." 

With  this  exception,  Louis  seems  to  have 
been  quite  a  respectable  person  for  a  royal 
prince  of  that  time,  as  he  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  make  up  to  the  discarded  Jeanne  for 
her  disappointment  at  not  being  invited  to 
share  the  throne  of  France  with  him.  He  con- 
ferred upon  her  the  Duchy  of  Berry  and  other 
domains,  and  with  them  a  handsome  income 
which  enabled  the  pious  princess  to  do  many 
good  works  and  to  found  the  religious  order  of 
the  Annonciade,  of  which  she  became  Superior. 

126 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

Although  Louis  and  Anne  established  their 
residence  at  the  King's  birthplace,  the  Chateau 
of  Blois,  the  Queen  was  at  Amboise  during  the 
spring  after  her  marriage,  where  her  return  was 
celebrated  with  rejoicings  and  festivities  which 
were  as  original  as  they  were  picturesque,  and 
well  calculated  to  please  a  wine-drinking  popu- 
lace. Anne's  biographer  says:  "The  boulevard 
between  the  Eiver  Loire  and  the  castle 
was  transformed  into  a  huge  pavilion,  in  the 
middle  of  which  were  erected  two  columns  bear- 
ing the  devices  of  Louis  and  Anne, — a  porcupine 
and  an  ermine, — and  from  the  mouth  of  each, 
wine  poured.  A  dais  of  red  damask  had  been 
prepared  for  the  King  and  one  of  white  for  the 
Queen;  but  Anne  alone  took  part  in  this  cere- 
mony, either  because  Louis  was  prevented  from 
being  present  or  because  he  did  not  wish  by  his 
presence  to  recall  sad  memories." 

Despite  her  wilfulness  and  obstinacy,  Louis 
was  very  fond  of  ma  Bretonne,  as  he  playfully 
called  his  wife,  and  yielded  to  her  in  many 
instances.  It  is  recorded,  however,  that  when 
Anne  wished  to  marry  their  daughter  Claude 
to  the  Archduke  Charles  of  Austria,  the  King 
stood  out  stoutly  against  the  persuasions  of 
his  spouse  and  insisted  upon  her  betrothal  to 

J27 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


his  cousin  and  heir,  Francis  d'Angouleme,  tell- 
ing his  wife,  after  his  own  humorous,  homely 
fashion,  that  he  had  resolved '  *  to  marry  his  mice 
to  none  but  the  rats  of  his  own  barn." 

Even  with  occasional  differences  of  opinion, 
which  the  King  seems  to  have  met  with  charm- 
ing good  humor,  the  union  of  Anne  and  Louis 
was  far  happier  than  most  royal  marriages. 
The  little  Bretonne,  who  had  begun  by  disliking 
Louis  d 'Orleans,  ended  by  loving  him  even  more 
devotedly  than  her  first  husband,  which  does 
not  seem  strange  to  us,  as  he  was  a  brave  and 
accomplished  gentleman,  altogether  a  far  more 
lovable  character  than  Charles. 

With  all  her  devotion  to  her  husband,  the 
Duchess  Queen  was  a  thrifty  lady,  with  an  eye 
to  the  main  chance,  and  when  poor  Louis  was 
ill  and  thought  to  be  dying  at  Blois,  she 
attempted  to  provide  against  the  chances  and 
changes  of  sudden  widowhood  by  sending  down 
the  river  to  Nantes  several  boats  loaded  with 
handsome  furniture,  jewels,  silver,  and  the  like. 
These  boats  were  stopped  between  Saumur  and 
Nantes  by  the  Marechal  de  Gie,  his  excuse  being 
that  as  the  King  was  still  alive  Anne  had  no 
right  to  remove  her  possessions  from  the  castle. 

128 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

Although  Marechal  de  Gie  was  a  favorite  min- 
ister of  Louis,  Anne  had  him  arrested  and 
treated  with  great  indignity.  Not  only  was  the 
unfortunate  Marechal  punished  for  his  recent 
sins,  but  by  means  of  researches  into  his  past 
life  it  was  found  that  he  had  committed  various 
offences  against  the  State.  Indignities  and 
miseries  were  heaped  upon  him,  and  so  hot  was 
the  wrath  of  the  royal  lady  that  when  it  was 
proposed  that  the  Marechal  de  Gie  should  be 
sentenced  to  death,  she  promptly  replied  that 
death  was  far  too  good  for  him,  as  that  ended 
the  sorrows  of  life,  and  that  for  one  of  high 
estate  to  sink  to  a  low  estate  and  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  misfortunes  was  to  die  daily, 
which  was  quite  good  enough  for  him.  All  of 
which  shows  that  even  if  Anne  was  something 
of  a  philosopher  she  was  also  possessed  of  a 
most  vindictive  spirit,  and  quite  lacking  in  the 
sweetness  and  charity  with  which  her  partial 
biographer  has  endowed  her.  Fortunately  the 
King,  recovering,  "through  the  good  prayers 
of  his  people/'  intervened  on  behalf  of  his  late 
favorite  and  mitigated  the  rigor  of  his  sentence, 
which  was  even  then  more  severe  than  was  war- 
ranted by  his  offence. 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


I  tell  you  this  little  tale  because  it  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  time,  as  well  as  of  the  imperious 
little  Duchess  Queen,  and  makes  us  realize  that 
Louis  was  well  named  the  good,  and  had  need 
of  all  the  generosity  and  amiability  that  has 
been  attributed  to  him  as  an  offset  to  the  fiery 
temper  of  his  Breton  wife. 

Among  the  many  interesting  additions  that 
Charles  VIII  made  to  Amboise  was  the  great 
double  Tours  des  Minimes,  adjoining  the  royal 
apartments.  This  tower  was  used  as  an 
approach  to  the  chateau  by  means  of  inclined 
planes  of  brick  work,  which  wound  around  a 
central  newel,  graded  so  gently  that  horses  and 
light  vehicles  could  ascend  without  difficulty. 
These  curious  ascents  were  doubtless  suggested 
to  the  King  by  the  low  broad  steps  in  the  Vat- 
ican over  which  the  old  Popes  were  wont  to 
ride  on  their  white  mules.  Lydia  reminds  us 
that  it  was  upon  this  dim  corkscrew  of  a  road 
winding  upward  that  Brown  performed  his 
remarkable  feat  in  The  Lightning  Conductor. 
Brown  might  have  made  this  dizzy  ascent  and 
perilous  descent  in  his  Napier;  but  it  could  be 
done  by  no  other  chauffeur,  "live  or  dead  or 
fashioned  by  my  fancy,"  although  kings  and 

130 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

princes  once  rode  their  horses  up  these  inclines, 
which  answered  the  purpose  of  porte  cochere 
and  stairway.  By  this  way  Francis  I  and 
his  guest  Charles  V  rode  up  to  the  royal  apart- 
ments when  the  Emperor  made  his  visit  here  in 
1539,  amid  general  rejoicings  and  such  a  blaze 
of  flambeaux  that,  as  the  ancient  chronicler  tells 
us,  even  in  this  dim  passage  one  might  see  as 
clearly  as  at  midday. 

In  the  terraced  garden  of  Amboise,  near  a 
quincunx  of  lime  trees,  is  a  bust  of  Leonardo 
da  Vinci.  We  wondered  why  it  was  placed  here 
until  we  learned  from  our  invaluable  Joanne 
that  the  Italian  artist  had  lived  and  died  at 
Amboise,  inhabiting  a  little  manor  house  near 
the  chateau.  It  was  Francis  I,  the  beauty  loving 
as  well  as  the  pleasure  seeking  King,  who 
brought  Leonardo  to  France  and  to  Amboise, 
the  home  of  his  childhood.  The  Italian  artist 
was  over  sixty  when  he  came  to  France  and  only 
lived  about  three  years  here,  dying,  it  is  said, 
in  the  arms  of  Francis.  Among  his  last  re- 
quests were  minute  directions  for  his  burial  in 
the  royal  church  of  St.  Florentin,  which  once 
stood  in  the  grounds  of  the  castle.  When  this 
church  was  destroyed,  in  the  last  century,  a 

131 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


skull  and  some  bones  were  found  among  the 
ruins  which  were  supposed  to  be  those  of 
Leonardo.  A  bust  was  erected  on  the  spot 
where  the  remains  were  found.  Whether  or  not 
the  bones  are  those  of  Leonardo,  a  fitting  memo- 
rial to  the  great  artist  is  this  bust  near  the 
lovely  quincunx,  whose  overshadowing  branches 
form  a  roof  of  delicate  green  above  it  like  the 
pergolas  of  his  native  Italy.  We  afterwards 
visited  the  little  Chateau  de  Cloux,  where 
Leonardo  had  once  lived. 

A  long  stretch  of  years  and  several  reigns 
lie  between  Anne  of  Brittany  and  Mary  of 
Scotland,  yet  it  is  of  these  two  twice-crowned 
queens  that  we  think  as  we  wander  through  the 
gardens  and  halls  of  the  Chateau  of  Amboise. 
Both  of  these  royal  ladies  came  here  as  brides 
and  both  were  received  with  joyful  acclamations 
at  Amboise.  Mary's  first  visit  to  the  chateau 
was  in  the  heyday  of  her  beauty  and  happiness, 
when  as  la  reine-dauphine  she  won  all  hearts. 

Do  you  remember  a  charming  full-length 
portrait,  that  we  once  saw,  of  Mary  and  Francis 
standing  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window  of  one 
of  the  royal  palaces  t  Although  a  year  younger 
than  Mary,  Francis  had  been  devoted  to  her 
little  serene  highness  of  Scotland  ever  since  her 

133 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

early  childhood,  and  she  seems  to  have  been 
equally  attached  to  her  boyish  lover,  as  chron- 
iclers of  the  time  tell  us  that  they  delighted  to 
retire  from  the  gayety  and  confusion  of  the 
court  to  whisper  their  little  secrets  to  each 
other,  with  no  one  to  hear,  and  that  they  were 
well  content  when  according  to  the  etiquette 
of  the  period  they  established  their  separate 
court  and  menage  at  Villers  Cotterets  as  roi  et 
reine-dauphine. 

As  the  province  of  Touraine  was  one  of  the 
dower  possessions  of  the  young  Queen,  she 
entered  into  her  own  when  she  visited  these 
royal  castles.  We  think  of  her  at  Amboise, 
riding  up  the  broad  inclines  to  the  royal  apart- 
ments, her  husband  by  her  side,  followed  by  a 
gay  cavalcade,  and  what  would  we  not  give  for 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  Mary  Stuart  in  the 
bright  beauty  of  her  youth,  before  sorrow  and 
crime  had  cast  a  shadow  over  her  girlish  loveli- 
ness !  No  portrait  seems  to  give  any  adequate 
representation  of  Mary,  probably  because  her 
grace  and  animation  added  so  much  to  the 
beauty  of  her  auburn  tinted  hair,  the  dazzling 
whiteness  of  her  complexion  and  the  bright, 
quick  glance  of  her  brown  eyes. 

"Others  there  were,"  says  one  of  Mary's 

123 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


biographers, ' '  in  that  gay,  licentious  court,  with 
faces  as  fair  and  forms  more  perfect;  what 
raised  Mary  of  Scotland  above  all  others  was 
her  animation.  When  she  spoke  her  whole  being 
seemed  to  become  inspired.  A  ready  wit  called 
to  its  aid  a  well-stored  mind."  In  fact,  Mary 
was  witty  enough  to  afford  to  be  plain,  and 
beautiful  enough  to  afford  to  be  dull ;  and  early 
and  late  she  captured  hearts,  from  the  days 
when  the  poets,  Eonsard,  De  Maison  Fleur,  and 
the  hapless  Chastelard,  celebrated  her  charms 
in  verse  to  a  later  and  sadder  time  when,  during 
her  captivity  in  England  her  young  page,  An- 
thony Babington,  was  so  fascinated  by  her  wit 
and  grace  that  he  made  a  valiant  and  desperate 
effort  to  save  her  to  his  own  undoing. 

The  sorrows  and  final  tragedy  of  Mary 
Stuart 's  life  have  so  overshadowed  the  events 
of  her  early  years  that  we  are  wont  to  forget 
the  power  and  influence  that  were  hers  in  the 
eighteen  months  of  her  reign  as  Queen  of 
France.  Adored  by  her  young  husband,  who 
evidently  admired  her  for  her  learning  as  well 
as  for  her  beauty  and  charm,  she  seems  to  have 
passed  through  her  years  at  court  with  no 
breath  of  suspicion  attached  to  her  fair  name, 

134 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

and  this  in  an  atmosphere  of  unbridled  license 
and  debauchery  of  which  Jeanne  d'Albret, 
Queen  of  Navarre,  wrote  to  her  son,  "No  one 
here  but  is  tainted  by  it.  If  you  were  here 
yourself  you  would  only  escape  by  some  re- 
markable mercy  of  God." 

In  addition  to  her  ascendency  over  the  mind 
of  her  husband  the  young  Queen  had  always  at 
her  side  her  astute  kinsmen,  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  who  were  as 
clever  as  they  were  unscrupulous.  With  these 
powerful  uncles  near  her,  Mary  was  in  a  posi- 
tion to  outwit  the  wily  Catherine,  between  whom 
and  the  Guise  faction  little  love  was  lost.  Only 
when  some  scheme  of  deviltry  joined  them 
together  in  common  interests,  as  the  massacre 
of  the  Huguenots  at  Amboise,  were  Catherine 
and  the  Guise  brothers  at  one,  and  this  trium- 
virate even  Queen  Mary  was  powerless  to 
withstand. 

We  had  wandered  far  afield  with  Mary 
Stuart  in  the  joyous  days  of  her  youth  when 
we  were  suddenly  brought  back  by  the  guide  to 
her  last  sad  visit  to  Amboise.  He  pointed  out 
to  us  the  Isle  St.  Jean  opposite  the  balcony 
where  we  were  standing,  saying  that  the  conjure 

135 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


had  met  over  there.  Whether  or  not  any  of  the 
conspirators  met  on  this  island  in  the  Loire,  the 
Conspiracy  of  1560,  which  the  Guise  brothers 
were  pleased  to  call  the  tumult  of  Amboise, 
was  formed  at  Nantes.  Although  the  Hugue- 
nots have  had  all  the  credit  of  this  formidable 
uprising,  a  number  of  Catholics  had  joined  them 
with  the  object  of  breaking  down  the  great  and 
growing  powers  of  the  Guise  family.  As  one 
of  the  alleged  plans  of  the  conspirators  was  to 
seize  Francis  and  Mary  and  remove  them  from 
the  influence  of  the  Duke  of  Guise  and  the 
Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  the  young  King  and 
Queen  were  hurried  from  Blois  to  the  strong- 
hold of  Amboise.  If  this  plot  had  succeeded, 
as  would  probably  have  been  the  case  had  it 
not  been  for  the  treachery  of  a  lawyer,  named 
Des  Avenelles,  in  whose  house  one  of  the  leaders 
lodged,  what  would  it  not  have  meant  to  the 
Huguenots  and  to  France?  With  the  Guise 
brothers  in  their  power  and  the  King  and 
Queen  no  longer  under  their  dominion,  the 
Huguenots  might  have  made  terms  with  the 
royal  party,  backed  as  they  were  at  this  time 
by  some  Catholics  of  influence. 

The  ever  vigilant  Duke  of  Guise,  having  dis- 
covered the  plot,  met  it  with  the  promptness, 

136 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

resolution,  and  relentless  cruelty  that  belonged 
to  his  character  and  his  time,  and  in  this  case 
an  element  of  revenge  was  added  to  his  wrath 
against  the  offenders,  as  his  own  capture  and 
that  of  his  brother,  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine, 
was  one  of  the  chief  objects  of  the  conspirators. 
The  life  and  liberty  of  the  King  and  Queen  were 
in  no  way  included  in  this  plot,  as  appeared 
later;  but  it  suited  the  purpose  of  the  Duke  of 
Guise  to  shelter  himself  behind  the  young  sov- 
ereigns and  to  represent  the  conspiracy  as  an 
act  of  high  treason  against  the  throne  of 
France.  Francis  and  Mary,  only  half  believing 
the  story  told  them,  but  not  strong  enough  to 
resist  the  power  of  the  Duke,  the  Cardinal  and 
the  Queen-mother,  allowed  themselves  to  be 
brought  to  Amboise. 

We  have  been  reading  again  Dumas 's  thrill- 
ing description  of  the  "tumult  of  Amboise, " 
and  his  pathetic  picture  of  the  young  King  and 
Queen,  who  shrank  from  witnessing  the  tortures 
and  death  to  which  their  Huguenot  subjects 
were  condemned.  Catherine  insisted  that  they 
should  take  their  places  on  the  balcony  over- 
looking the  court  of  execution,  chid  her  son 
as  a  weakling  because  he  shrank  from  the  sight 
of  blood,  while  the  Cardinal  reminded  poor, 

137 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


trembling,  tender-hearted  Francis  that  his 
"grandsire  of  glorious  memory,  Francis  I,  had 
always  assisted  at  the  burning  of  heretics." 

"Other  kings  do  as  they  please  and  so  will 
I,"  Francis  had  the  courage  to  say  but  not  to 
do,  as  he  and  Mary,  "poor  crowned  slaves,"  as 
the  novelist  calls  them,  were  forced  to  appear 
upon  the  iron  balcony  and  witness  the  execution 
of  some  of  the  noblest  of  their  subjects. 

Standing  on  the  Tour  des  Minimes  on  this 
fair  September  day,  looking  down  upon  the  bal- 
conies, terraces,  and  gardens  of  the  chateau 
basking  in  warm  sunshine,  it  was  difficult  to 
realize  the  scenes  of  horror  and  bloodshed  that 
were  enacted  here  on  that  sad  day  in  March, 
1560.  The  Duke  had  his  troops  ambushed  in 
the  forest  of  Chateau  Begnault,  in  readiness  to 
attack  the  conspirators  as  they  approached  in 
small  detachments,  and  over  the  peaceful  plain 
spread  before  us,  through  which  the  Loire  winds 
its  way,  an  army  of  Frenchmen  was  lured  on 
to  its  destruction  by  false  promises  of  safety, 
and  in  yonder  forest  of  Chateau  Regnault  one 
of  the  prime  movers  in  the  uprising,  the  Seig- 
neur de  la  Renaudie,  a  gentleman  of  Perigord, 
was  overtaken  and  slain.  Such  other  brave 

138 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

men  and  noble  gentlemen  as  the  Baron  de 
Castelnau  Chalosse  and  the  Baron  de  Eaunay 
were  spared  for  a  sadder  fate,  while  for  the 
Prince  of  Conde  there  was  reserved  the  crown- 
ing horror  of  seeing  his  followers  beheaded  one 
by  one.  It  is  said  that  as  they  were  led  into 
the  courtyard  they  turned  to  salute  their  "chef 
muet,"  a  salute  which  he  was  brave  enough  to 
return,  while  they  went  to  the  block  singing 
Clement  Marot's  adaptation  of  the  Sixty- 
seventh  Psalm : 

Dieu  nous  soit  doux  et  favorable 
Nous  benissant  par  sa  bonte 
Et  de  son  visage  adorable 
Nous  fasse  luire  la  clarte. 

It  is  not  strange  that,  in  the  face  of  such 
sublime  faith  and  dauntless  courage,  the  young 
Queen  should  have  pleaded  for  the  life  of  these 
noblemen,  or  that  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  who 
had  pledged  his  faith  as  a  prince,  "on  his 
honor  and  on  the  damnation  of  his  soul,"  that 
the  Huguenot  deputies  should  be  fairly  dealt 
with,  should  have  added  his  entreaties  to  those 
of  Mary. 

The  Duke  of  Nemours  appealed  to  Catherine, 
who  answered  with  feigned  indifference  that 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


she  could  do  nothing,  then  to  the  King  who,  pale 
and  ill  at  the  sight  before  him,  would  have 
stopped  the  massacre  long  before.  The  Queen, 
on  bended  knee,  begged  her  husband  for  the  life 
of  the  last  victim,  the  Baron  de  Castelnau.  The 
King  made  a  sign  that  he  should  be  spared ;  but 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  chose  to  misunder- 
stand, gave  the  fatal  signal,  and  Castelnau 's 
head  fell  with  the  rest. 

In  view  of  this  wholesale  slaughter,  for  it  is 
said  that  over  twelve  hundred  perished  in  and 
around  Amboise,  we  do  not  wonder  that  the 
Prince  de  Conde  exclaimed: 

"Ah,  what  an  easy  task  for  foreigners  to 
seize  on  France  after  the  death  of  so  many 
honorable  men ! "  a  speech  for  which  the  Guises 
never  quite  forgave  him.  Nor  did  we  wonder, 
as  we  made  our  way  to  the  garden  through  the 
bare  unfurnished  rooms  of  the  chateau,  that 
it  ceased  to  be  a  royal  residence  after  this  car- 
nival of  blood,  and  later  became  a  State  prison, 
and  place  of  exile  for  persons  of  high  degree. 
The  Cardinal  de  Bourbon  was  confined  here, 
and  it  is  said  that  Amboise  opened  its  doors  to 
the  Superintendent  Fouquet  after  his  capture 
by  D'Artagnan,  for  you  must  know  that  there 

140 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

was  a  real  D  'Artagnan  from  whom  Dumas  con- 
structed his  somewhat  glorified  hero. 

We  wondered  why  so  many  feeble,  old 
people  were  sitting  about  in  the  house  and 
grounds,  until  the  gardienne  told  us,  that,  the 
chateau  having  been  restored  to  the  Orleans 
family  in  1872,  they  had  established  here  a 
retreat  and  home  for  their  old  retainers. 

''Well,  I  am  thankful  that  some  good  deeds 
are  done  here  to  help  to  wash  away  the  dark 
stains  from  the  history  of  the  chateau!"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Cassandra.  "But  how  do  they 
manage  to  sleep  with  the  ghosts  of  all  these 
good  men  who  have  been  murdered  here  haunt- 
ing the  place  at  night!" 

Walter  reminded  her  that  the  just  were  sup- 
posed to  rest  quietly  in  their  graves,  and  that 
it  was  those  of  uneasy  conscience  who  walked 
o'  nights. 

"Then  Catherine  must  be  walking  most  of 
the  time.  We  certainly  should  see  her  if  we 
could  wait  here  until  after  dark." 

When  I  translated  our  Quaker  lady's  re- 
marks to  the  guide  she  laughed  and  rejoined, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye,  that  if  "Her 
Majesty  had  to  walk  in  all  the  palaces  that  had 

141 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


known  her  evil  deeds  she  would  be  kept  busy 
and  would  only  have  a  night  now  and  again  for 
Amboise ;  beside  which  this  chateau  was  blessed, 
having  been  dedicated  to  good  works,  and  after 
all  were  not  the  Guises  more  involved  in 
the  massacre  of  the  Huguenots  here  than 
Catherine?" 

Miss  Cassandra  reluctantly  acknowledged 
that  perhaps  they  were,  but  for  her  part  she 
makes  no  excuses  for  Catherine,  and  refuses  to 
believe  that  she  was  ever  an  innocent  baby.  She 
declares  that  this  insatiable  daughter  of  the 
Medici,  like  Minerva,  sprang  full  grown  into 
being,  equipped  for  wickedness  as  the  goddess 
was  with  knowledge. 

With  a  clink  of  silver  and  a  cheerful  " Au 
revoir,  Mesdames  et  Monsieur/'  we  parted 
from  our  pleasant  little  guide.  As  we  turned 
to  look  back  at  Amboise  from  the  bridge,  some 
heavy  clouds  hung  over  the  castle,  making  it 
look  grim  and  gray,  more  like  the  fortress- 
prison  that  it  had  proved  to  so  many  hundreds 
of  brave,  unfortunate  Frenchmen  than  the 
cheerful  chateau,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  that 
we  had  seen  this  morning. 

We  motored  home,  in  a  fine  drizzle  of  rain, 
through  a  gray  landscape ;  and  surely  no  land- 

142 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 


scape  can  be  more  perfectly  gray  than  that  of 
France  when  it  is  pleased  to  put  on  sombre 
tints,  and  no  other  could  have  been  as  well 
suited  to  the  shade  of  our  thoughts. 

Lydia,  by  way  of  reviving  our  drooping 
spirits,  I  fancy,  as  she  is  not  usually  given  to 
conundrums  or  puzzles,  suddenly  propounded 
a  series  of  brain-racking  questions.  "Who  first 
said,  'Let  us  fly  and  save  our  bacon;'  and  'He 
would  make  three  bites  of  a  cherry ; '  and  *  Appe- 
tite comes  with  eating;'  and  'It  is  meat,  drink, 
and  cloth  to  us;'  and " 

"Stop!"  cried  Miss  Cassandra,  "and  give 
us  time  to  think,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  it 
was  Beau  Brummel  who  made  three  bites  of  a 
cherry,  or  a  strawberry,  or  some  other  small 
fruit." 

Walter  and  I  were  inclined  to  give  Shake- 
speare and  Pope  the  credit  of  these  familiar 
sayings ;  but  we  were  all  wrong,  as  Lydia,  after 
puzzling  us  for  some  time,  exclaimed  trium- 
phantly: 

"No,  further  back  than  either  Shakespeare 
or  Pope;  these  wise  sayings,  and  many  more 
like  them,  were  written  by  a  Tourangeau,  one 
Monsieur  Rabelais." 

"And  where  did  you  come  across  them?"  we 

143 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


asked,  quite  put  out  with  Lydia  for  knowing 
so  much  more  than  the  rest  of  us. 

Then  Lydia,  who  appears  upon  the  surface 
to  be  a  guileless  and  undesigning  young  person, 
confessed  that  she  had  extracted  this  informa- 
tion from  a  Frenchman  with  whom  we  all  had 
some  pleasant  conversation  on  the  way  to 
Langeais,  and  she  has  been  treasuring  it  up 
ever  since  to  spring  it  upon  us  in  an  unguarded 
moment  when  we  were  far  from  the  haunts  of 
Rabelais.  This  gentleman,  whose  name  is  one 
of  the  things  we  shall  probably  never  know, 
with  the  cheerfully  appropriating  spirit  of  the 
French,  was  ready  to  claim  most  of  Shake- 
speare's aphorisms  for  Eabelais.  We  are  will- 
ing to  forgive  him,  however,  because  he  intro- 
duced us  to  a  phrase  coined  by  the  creator  of 
Pantagruel,  in  slow-going  sixteenth  century 
days,  which  so  exactly  fits  the  situation  to-day 
that  it  seems  to  have  been  made  for  such  trav- 
ellers as  ourselves:  "Nothing  is  so  dear  and 
precious  as  time,"  wrote  M.  Rabelais,  long 
before  tourists  from  all  over  the  world  were 
trying  to  live  here  on  twenty-four  hours  a  day 
and  yet  see  all  the  chateaux  and  castles  upon 
their  lists. 

144 


TWO  QUEENS  AT  AMBOISE 

My  brother  Archie  has  been  talking  of  com- 
ing over  to  join  us  either  here  or  in  Paris.  As 
he  is  a  rather  sudden  person  in  his  movements, 
it  would  not  surprise  me  to  have  him  appear 
any  day.  I  only  hope  that  he  may  come  while 
we  are  in  Touraine.  He  is  so  fond  of  every- 
thing in  the  agricultural  line  that  he  would 
delight  in  this  fertile,  well-cultivated  country. 


10 


VIII 
A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 


PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  September  6th. 

THIS  being  a  beautiful  day,  and  the  sun- 
shine more  brilliant  than  is  usual  on  a  Sep- 
tember morning  in  this  region,  we  unanimously 
agreed  to  dedicate  its  hours  to  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  the  neighboring  chateaux.  The 
really  most  important  question  upon  which  we 
were  not  unanimous  was  whether  Chenonceaux 
or  Chinon  should  be  the  goal  of  our  pilgrimage. 
Miss  Cassandra  unhesitatingly  voted  for 
Chenonceaux,  which  she  emphatically  an- 
nounced to  be  the  chateau  of  all  others  that 
she  had  crossed  the  ocean  to  see.  "It  was  not 
a  ruin  like  Chinon, "  she  urged,  "the  buildings 
were  in  perfect  condition  and  the  park  and 
gardens  of  surpassing  loveliness." 

"Of  course  we  expect  to  go  to  Chinon,  dear 
Miss  Cassandra,"  said  I;  "it  is  only  a  question 
of  which  we  are  to  see  to-day." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  but  I  have  great  faith  in 

146 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

the  bird  in  the  hand,  or  as  the  Portuguese  gen- 
tleman expressed  it,  'One  I  have  is  worth  two 
I  shall  haves.'  The  finger  of  fate  seems  to 
point  to  Chenonceaux  to-day,  for  I  dreamed 
about  it  last  night  and  Diana  (Miss  Cassandra 
always  gives  the  name  of  the  fair  huntress  its 
most  uncompromising  English  pronunciation) 
was  standing  on  the  bridge  looking  just  like  a 
portrait  that  we  saw  the  other  day,  and  in  a 
gorgeous  dress  of  black  and  silver.  Now  don't 
think,  my  dears,  that  I  approve  of  Diana;  she 
was  decidedly  light,  and  Lydia  knows  very  well 
that  the  overseers  of  the  meeting  would  have 
had  to  deal  with  her  more  than  once ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  a  choice  between  Diana  and  Cath- 
erine, I  would  always  choose  Diana,  whatever 
her  faults  may  have  been." 

"Diane,"  corrected  a  shrill  voice  above  our 
heads. 

"We  happened  to  be  standing  on  the  little 
portico  by  the  garden,  and  I  looked  around  to 
see  who  was  listening  to  our  conversation,  when 
again  " Diane"  rang  forth,  followed  by  "Bon 
jour,  Madame,"  all  in  the  exquisite  accent  of 
Touraine. 

"It  is  Polly,  who  is  correcting  my  pronun- 

147 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


elation,"  exclaimed  Miss  Cassandra,  "and  I 
really  don't  blame  her."  Looking  up  at  the 
cage,  with  a  nod  and  a  smile,  she  cried,  "Bon 
jour,  joli  Marie!" 

"Good-by,  Madame,"  rejoined  the  parrot, 
proudly  cocking  her  head  on  one  side  and  wink- 
ing at  Miss  Cassandra  in  the  most  knowing 
fashion,  as  if  to  say,  "Two  can  play  at  that 
game." 

Polly  has  learned  some  English  phrases 
from  the  numerous  guests  of  the  house,  and 
cordially  greets  us  with  "Good-by"  when  we 
enter  and  "How  do  you  do?"  when  we  are  leav- 
ing, which,  you  may  remember,  was  just  what 
Mr.  Monard,  who  had  the  little  French  church 
in  Philadelphia,  used  to  do  until  some  person 
without  any  sense  of  humor  undertook  to  set 
him  straight.  We  trust  that  no  misguided 
person  may  ever  undertake  to  correct  Polly's 
English  or  Miss  Cassandra's  French,  for  as 
Walter  says,  "To  hear  those  two  exchanging 
linguistic  courtesies  is  one  of  the  experiences 
that  make  life  and  travel  worth  while,  and  the 
most  amusing  part  of  it  is  that  the  Quaker  lady 
is  as  unconscious  of  the  humor  of  the  situation 
as  the  parrot." 

148 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

"And,  after  all,"  said  Miss  Cassandra,  re- 
turning to  her  argument  after  Polly's  inter- 
ruption, '  *  when  a  woman  is  so  beautiful  at  fifty 
that  a  young  king  is  at  her  feet,  giving  her 
jewels  from  morning  until  night,  it  is  not 
strange  that  her  head  should  be  turned.  And 
you  must  remember,  Zelphine,"  added  Miss 
Cassandra  in  her  most  engaging  manner,  "that 
your  favorite  Henry  James  said  that  he  would 
rather  have  missed  Chinon  than  Chenonceaux, 
and  that  he  counted  as  exceedingly  fortunate 
the  few  hours  that  he  passed  at  this  exquisite 
residence." 

After  this  Parthian  shaft  Miss  Cassandra 
left  us  to  put  on  her  hat  for  Chenonceaux,  for 
to  Chenonceaux  we  decided  to  go,  of  course. 
Miss  Cassandra's  arguments  were  irresistible, 
as  usual,  and  as  Walter  added  philosophically, 
"Her  choice  is  generally  a  wise  one,  and  where 
everything  is  so  well  worth  seeing  one  cannot 
go  far  astray."  We  took  a  train  that  leaves, 
what  our  local  guidebook  is  pleased  to  call  the 
monumental  railway  station  of  Tours,  between 
ten  and  eleven  o  'clock  and  reached  the  town  of 
Chenonceaux  in  less  than  an  hour.  All  of  these 
jaunts  by  rail  are  short  and  so  conveniently 

149 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


arranged  that  one  always  seems  to  have  ample 
time  for  the  inspection  of  whatever  chateau 
and  grounds  one  happens  to  be  visiting. 

At  the  station  we  found  an  omnibus  which 
conveyed  us  to  the  Hotel  du  Bon  Laboureur, 
the  Mecca  of  all  hungry  pilgrims,  where  a  sub- 
stantial luncheon  was  soon  spread  before  us, 
enlivened,  as  Walter  puts  it,  by  a  generous 
supply  of  the  light  wine  of  the  country.  Look- 
ing over  my  shoulder,  as  I  write,  he  declares 
that  I  am  gilding  that  luncheon  at  the  Bon 
Laboureur  with  all  the  romance  and  glamour  of 
Chenonceaux,  and  that  it  was  not  substantial  at 
all;  but  on  the  contrary  pitifully  light.  Per- 
haps I  am  idealizing  the  luncheon,  as  Walter 
says,  but  as  part  and  parcel  of  a  day  of  unal- 
layed  happiness  it  stands  out  in  my  mind  as  a 
feast  of  the  gods,  despite  all  adverse  criticism. 
Being  a  mere  man,  as  Lydia  expresses  it, 
Walter  feels  the  discomforts  of  travel  more  than 
we  women  folk.  He  says  that  he  is  heartily 
tired  of  luncheons  made  up  of  flimflams, 
omelettes,  entrees,  and  the  like,  and  when  the 
inevitable  salad  and  fowl  appeared  he  quite 
shocked  us  by  saying  that  he  would  like  to  see 
some  real  chicken,  the  sort  that  we  have  at  home 

160 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

broiled  by  Mandy,  who  knows  how  to  cook 
chicken  far  and  away  better  than  these  Johnny 
Crapauds  with  all  their  boasted  culinary  skill. 

Lydia  and  I  were  congratulating  ourselves 
that  no  one  could  understand  this  rude  diatribe 
when  we  noticed,  at  the  next  table,  our  acquaint- 
ance of  Langeais,  Lydia 's  aphoristic  French- 
man, if  I  may  coin  a  word.  This  did  not  seem 
a  good  time  to  renew  civilities,  especially  as  he 
was  evidently  laughing  behind  his  napkin.  I 
motioned  to  Walter  to  keep  quiet  and  gave  him 
a  look  that  was  intended  to  be  very  severe,  and 
then  Miss  Cassandra,  with  her  usual  friendly 
desire  to  pour  oil  upon  the  troubled  waters, 
stirred  them  up  more  effectually  by  adding: 
"Yes,  Walter,  but  in  travelling  one  must  take 
the  bad  with  the  good;  we  have  no  buildings 
like  these  at  home  and  I  for  one  am  quite  will- 
ing to  give  up  American  social  pleasures  and 
luxuries  for  the  sake  of  all  that  we  see  here 
and  all  that  we  learn." 

Can  you  imagine  anything  more  bewildering 
to  a  Frenchman  than  Miss  Cassandra's  philos- 
ophy, especially  her  allusion  to  American  social 
pleasures  and  luxuries,  which  to  the  average 
and  untravelled  French  mind  would  be  repre- 

151 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


sented,  I  fancy,  by  a  native  Indian  picnic  with 
a  menu  of  wild  turkey  and  quail  ?  It  was  a  very 
good  luncheon,  I  insisted,  even  if  not  quite 
according  to  American  ideas,  and  variety  is  one 
of  the  pleasures  of  foreign  travel, — this  last  in 
my  most  instructive  manner  and  to  Lydia's 
great  amusement.  She  alone  grasped  the  situa- 
tion, as  Walter  and  Miss  Cassandra  were  seated 
with  their  backs  to  the  stranger.  In  order  to 
prevent  further  criticisms  upon  French  living 
I  changed  the  subject  by  asking  Walter  for  our 
Joanne  guidebook,  and  succeeded  in  silencing 
the  party,  after  Artemus  Ward's  plan  with  his 
daughter's  suitors,  by  reading  aloud  to  them, 
during  which  the  stranger  finished  his  luncheon 
and  after  the  manner  of  the  suitors  quietly  took 
his  departure. 

"We  shall  never  see  him  again,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "and  he  will  always  remember  us  as 
those  rude  and  unappreciative  Americans  1" 

"And  what  have  we  done  to  deserve  such  an 
opinion?"  asked  Walter. 

"Attacked  them  on  their  most  sensitive 
point.  A  Frenchman  prides  himself,  above 
everything  else,  upon  the  cuisine  of  his  country, 
and  considers  American  living  altogether  crude 
and  uncivilized." 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

"And  is  that  all,  Zelphine,  and  don't  you 
think  it  about  time  that  they  should  learn  bet- 
ter; and  who  is  the  he  in  question,  anyhow?" 

When  I  explained  about  the  Frenchman, 
who  was  seated  behind  him  and  understood 
every  invidious  word,  Walter,  instead  of  being 
contrite,  said  airily  that  he  regretted  that  he 
had  not  spoken  French  as  that  would  probably 
have  been  beyond  Mr.  Crapaud's  comprehen- 
sion. 

A  number  of  coaches  were  standing  in  front 
of  the  little  inn,  one  of  which  Miss  Cassandra 
and  Lydia  engaged  in  order  to  save  their 
strength  for  the  many  steps  to  be  taken  in  and 
around  the  chateau ;  but  they  did  not  save  much, 
after  all,  as  the  coaches  all  stop  at  the  end  of 
the  first  avenue  of  plane  trees  at  a  railroad 
crossing  and  after  this  another  long  avenue 
leads  to  the  grounds.  Walter  and  I  thought 
that  we  decidedly  had  the  best  of  it,  as  we 
strolled  through  the  picturesque  little  village, 
and  having  our  kodaks  with  us  we  were  able  to 
get  some  pretty  bits  by  the  way,  among  other 
things  a  photograph  of  a  sixteenth  century 
house  in  which  the  pages  of  Francis  I  are  said 
to  have  been  lodged. 

Passing  up  the  long  avenue  we  made  a 

153 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


detour  to  the  left,  attracted  by  some  rich  carv- 
ings at  the  end  of  the  tennis  court, — and  what 
a  tennis  court  it  is ! — smooth,  green,  beautifully 
made,  with  a  background  of  forest  trees  skirt- 
ing it  on  two  sides. 

The  approach  to  the  chateau  is  in  keeping 
with  its  stately  beauty.  After  traversing  the 
second  avenue  of  plane  trees,  we  passed  between 
two  great  sphinxes  which  guard  the  entrance  to 
the  court,  with  the  ancient  dungeon-keep  on  the 
right  and  on  the  left  the  Domes  buildings,  which 
seem  to  include  the  servants*  quarters  and 
stables.  Beyond  this  is  the  drawbridge  which 
spans  the  wide  moat  and  gives  access  to  a 
spacious  rectangular  court.  This  moat  of  clear, 
running  water,  its  solid  stone  walls  draped  with 
vines  and  topped  with  blooming  plants,  defines 
the  ancient  limits  of  the  domain  of  the  Marques 
family  who  owned  this  estate  as  far  back  in 
history  as  the  thirteenth  century.  Where  the 
beautiful  chateau  now  stands  there  was  once  a 
fortified  mill.  The  property  passed  into  the 
hands  of  Thomas  Bohier,  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, who  conceived  the  bold  idea  of  turning  the 
old  mill  into  a  chateau,  its  solid  foundations, 
sunk  into  the  Cher,  affording  a  substantial  sup- 

164 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

port  for  the  noble  superstructure ;  or,  as  Balzac 
says,  "Messire  de  Bohier,  the  Minister  of 
Finances,  as  a  novelty  placed  his  house  astride 
the  River  Cher. ' '  A  chateau  built  over  a  river ! 
Can  you  imagine  anything  more  picturesque, 
or,  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  anything  more 
unhealthy?  The  sun  shone  gaily  to-day,  and 
the  rooms  felt  fairly  dry,  but  during  the  long 
weeks  of  rain  that  come  to  France  in  the  spring 
and  late  autumn  these  spacious  salles  must  be 
as  damp  as  a  cellar.  Miss  Cassandra  says  that 
the  bare  thought  of  sleeping  in  them  gives  her 
rheumatic  twinges.  There  are  handsome,  richly 
decorated  mantels  and  chimney-places  in  all  of 
the  great  rooms,  but  they  look  as  if  they  had  not 
often  known  the  delights  of  a  cheerful  fire  of 
blazing  logs. 

The  old  building  is  in  the  form  of  a  vast 
square  pavilion,  flanked  on  each  corner  by  a 
bracketed  turret  upon  which  there  is  a  wealth 
of  Renaissance  ornamentation.  On  the  east 
side  are  the  chapel  and  a  small  outbuilding, 
which  form  a  double  projection  and  enclose  a 
little  terrace  on  the  ground  floor.  Over  the 
great  entrance  door  are  carvings  and  heraldic 
devices,  and  over  the  whole  fagade  of  the 

155 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


chateau  there  is  a  rich  luxuriance  of  ornamen- 
tation which,  with  the  wide  moat  surrounding 
it,  and  the  blooming  parterres  spread  before  it, 
give  the  entire  castle  the  air  of  being  en  fete, 
not  relegated  to  the  past  like  Langeais, 
Amboise,  and  some  of  the  other  chateaux  that 
we  have  seen. 

However  Diane  de  Poitiers  and  Catherine 
de  Medici  may  have  beautified  this  lovely  pal- 
ace on  the  Cher,  its  inception  seems  to  have 
been  due  to  Bohier,  the  Norman  general  des 
finances  of  Charles  VIII,  or  perhaps  to  his  wife 
Katherine  Brigonnet,  a  true  lover  of  art,  who 
like  her  husband  spent  vast  sums  upon  Chenon- 
ceaux.  The  fact  that  Bohier  died  before  the 
chateau  was  anywhere  near  completion  makes 
the  old  French  inscription  on  the  tower,  and 
elsewhere  on  the  walls,  especially  pathetic, 
" S'il  vient  a  point,  m'en  souviendra"  (If  com- 
pleted, remember  me).  Even  unfinished  as  the 
Norman  financier  left  Chenonceaux,  one  cannot 
fail  to  remember  him  and  his  dreams  of  beauty 
which  others  were  destined  to  carry  out. 

Unique  in  situation  and  design  is  the  great 
gallery,  sixty  metres  in  height,  which  Philibert 
de  POrme,  at  Queen  Catherine's  command, 

156 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

caused  to  rise  like  a  fairy  palace  from  the 
waters  of  the  Cher.  This  gallery  of  two  stories, 
decorated  in  the  interior  with  elaborate  designs 
in  stucco,  and  busts  of  royal  and  distinguished 
persons,  is  classic  in  style  and  sufficiently  sub- 
stantial in  structure,  as  it  rests  upon  five  arches 
separated  by  abutments,  on  each  of  which  is  a 
semicircular  turret  rising  to  the  level  of  the 
first  floor.  Designed  for  a  salle  des  fetes,  this 
part  of  the  castle  was  never  quite  finished  in 
consequence  of  the  death  of  Catherine,  who 
intended  that  an  elaborate  pavilion,  to  match 
Bohier's  chateau  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
river,  should  mark  the  terminus  of  the  gallery. 
The  new  building  was  far  enough  advanced, 
however,  to  be  used  for  the  elaborate  festivities 
that  had  been  planned  for  Francis  II  and  Queen 
Mary  when  they  fled  from  the  horrors  of 
Amboise  to  the  lovely  groves  and  forests  of 
Chenonceaux. 

Standing  in  the  long  gallery,  which  literally 
bridges  the  Cher,  we  wondered  whether  the 
masques  and  revels  held  here  in  honor  of  the 
Scotch  Queen  were  able  to  dispel  sad  thoughts 
of  that  day  at  Amboise,  of  whose  miseries  we 
heard  so  much  yesterday.  Mary  Stuart,  more 

157 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


than  half  French,  was  gay,  light-hearted  and 
perhaps  in  those  early  days  with  a  short  mem- 
ory for  the  sorrows  of  life;  but  it  seems  as  if 
the  recollection  of  that  day  of  slaughter  and 
misery  could  never  have  been  quite  effaced  from 
her  mind.  To  Catherine,  who  revelled  in  blood 
and  murder,  the  day  was  one  of  triumph,  but  its 
horrors  evidently  left  their  impress  upon  the 
delicate  physique  as  well  as  upon  the  sensitive 
mind  of  the  frail,  gentle  Francis. 

Since  we  have  heard  so  much  of  the  evil 
deeds  of  Catherine  it  has  become  almost  unsafe 
to  take  Miss  Cassandra  into  any  of  the  palaces 
where  the  Medicean  Queen  is  honored  by  statue 
or  portrait.  When  we  passed  from  the  spacious 
salle  des  gardes,  later  used  as  the  dining  hall 
of  the  Briconnet  family,  into  the  room  of  Diane 
de  Poitiers,  it  seemed  the  very  irony  of  fate  that 
a  large  portrait  of  the  arch  enemy  of  the  beau- 
tiful Diane  should  adorn  the  richly  carved 
chimney-place.  I  should  not  say  adorn,  for 
Catherine's  unattractive  face  could  adorn  noth- 
ing, and  this  severe  portrait  in  widow's  weeds, 
with  none  of  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  roy- 
alty to  light  up  the  sombre  garb,  is  singularly 
undecorative.  Although  she  had  already  an- 
us 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

nounced  that  she  had  no  great  affection  for 
Diane,  Catherine's  portrait  in  this  particular 
room  excited  Miss  Cassandra's  wrath  to  such  a 
degree  that  her  words  and  gestures  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  guide.  At  first  he  looked 
perplexed  and  then  indignantly  turned  to  us  for 
an  explanation:  "What  ailed  the  lady,  and  why 
was  she  displeased?  He  was  doing  his  best 
to  show  us  the  chateau."  We  reassured  him, 
smoothed  down  his  ruffled  feathers,  and  finally 
explained  to  him  that  Miss  Cassandra  had  a 
deep-rooted  aversion  to  Queen  Catherine  and 
especially  resented  having  her  honored  by  por- 
trait or  bust  in  these  beautiful  French  castles, 
above  all  in  this  room  of  her  hated  rival. 

"Diane  was  none  too  good  herself,"  he  re- 
plied with  a  grim  smile;  "but  she  was  beautiful 
and  had  wit  enough  to  hold  the  hearts  of  two 
kings."  Then,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the 
occasion,  he  turned  to  Miss  Cassandra  and  by 
dint  of  shrugs,  and  no  end  of  indescribable  and 
most  expressive  French  gestures,  he  made  her 
understand  that  he  had  no  love  for  Catherine 
himself,  and  that  if  it  lay  within  his  pouvoir 
he  would  throw  the  unlovely  portrait  out  of  the 
window;  no  one  cared  for  her, — her  own  hus- 

159 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


band  least  of  all.  This  last  remark  was  accom- 
panied with  what  was  intended  for  a  wicked 
wink,  exclusively  for  Walter's  benefit,  but  its 
wickedness  was  quite  overcome  by  the  irre- 
sistible and  contagious  good  humor  and  bon- 
homie of  the  man.  Finding  that  his  audience 
was  en  rapport  with  him,  he  drew  our  attention 
to  the  wall  decoration,  which  consists  of  a  series 
of  monograms,  and  asked  us  how  we  read  the 
design. 

"  D  and  H  intertwined"  we  answered  in 
chorus. 

At  this  the  guide  laughed  merrily  and  ex- 
plained that  there  were  different  opinions  about 
the  monogram;  some  persons  said  that  King 
Henry  had  boldly  undertaken  to  interlace  the 
initial  letters  of  Catherine  and  Diane  with  his 
own,  but  he  for  his  part  believed  that  the  letters 
were  two  Cs  with  an  H  between  them  and, 
whether  by  accident  or  design,  the  letter  on  the 
left,  which  looked  more  like  a  D  than  a  C, 
gave  the  key  to  the  monogram,  "and  this,"  he 
added  with  the  air  of  a  philosopher,  "made  it 
true  to  history;  the  beautiful  favorite  on  the 
left  hand  was  always  more  powerful  than  the 
Queen  on  the  right,  not  that  the  ways  of  King 

160 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

Henry  II  were  to  be  commended;  but,"  with  a 
frank  smile,  "one  is  always  pleased  to  think  of 
that  wicked  woman  getting  what  was  owing 
her." 

"Rousseau  thought  that  both  the  initials 
were  those  of  Diane ;  he  says  in  his  Confessions: 
'In  1747  we  went  to  pass  the  autumn  in  Ton- 
raine,  at  the  castle  of  Chenonceaux,  a  royal 
mansion  upon  the  Cher,  built  by  Henry  II  for 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  of  whom  the  ciphers  are  still 
seen.'  " 

We  turned,  at  the  sound  of  a  strange  voice, 
to  find  the  Frenchman  of  the  Bon  Laboureur 
standing  quite  near  us. 

"These  guides  have  a  large  supply  of  more 
or  less  correct  history  at  hand,  and  this  one, 
being  a  philosopher,  adds  his  own  theories  to 
further  obscure  the  truth."  This  in  the  most 
perfect  English,  accompanied  by  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  entirely  French.  "Chenonceaux 
being  Diane's  chateau  and  this  her  own  room, 
what  more  natural  than  that  her  cipher  should 
be  here,  as  Rousseau  says  t  And  yet,  as  Honore 
de  Balzac  points  out,  this  same  cipher  is  to  be 
found  in  the  palace  of  the  Louvre;  upon  the 
columns  of  la  Halle  au  Ble,  built  by  Catherine 

11  161 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


herself;  and  above  her  own  tomb  at  Saint 
Denis  which  she  had  ^constructed  during  her 
lifetime.  All  the  same,  it  must  have  pleased 
Henry  immensely  to  have  the  royal  cipher  look 
much  more  like  D  H  than  like  C  H,  and  there 
is  still  room  for  conjecture  which,  after  all,  is 
one  of  the  charms  of  history,  so,  Monsieur  et 
Mesdames,  it  is  quite  a  votre  choix,"  with  a 
graceful  bow  in  our  direction. 

Evidently  Monsieur  Crapaud  does  not  con- 
sider us  savages,  despite  Walter's  unsavory 
remarks  about  the  cuisine  of  his  country,  and 
noticing  our  interest  he  added  with  French 
exactness:  "Of  course,  the  chateau  was  not 
built  for  Diane,  although  much  enlarged  and 
beautified  by  her,  and  when  Catherine  came  into 
possession  she  had  the  good  sense  to  carry  out 
some  of  Diane's  plans.  Francis  I  came  here  to 
hunt  sometimes,  and  it  was  upon  one  of  these 
parties  of  pleasure,  when  his  son  Henry  and 
Diane  de  Poitiers  were  with  him,  that  she  fell 
in  love  with  this  castle  on  the  Cher,  and  longed 
to  make  it  her  own.  Having  a  lively  sense  of 
the  instability  of  all  things  mortal,  kings  in 
particular,  she  took  good  care  to  make  friends 
with  the  rising  star,  and  when  Francis  was 
102 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

gathered  to  his  fathers  and  his  uncles  and  his 
cousins, — you  may  remember  that  his  prede- 
cessor was  an  uncle  or  a  cousin, — Henry 
promptly  turned  over  Chenonceaux  to  Diane." 

" There  is  a  curious  old  story,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Crapaud,  "about  Chenonceaux  having 
been  given  to  Diane  to  soothe  her  vanity,  which 
had  been  wounded  by  the  publication  of  some 
scurrilous  verses,  said  to  have  been  instigated 
by  her  enemy,  Madame  d'Etampes.  Naturally, 
the  petted  beauty,  whose  charms  were  already 
on  the  wane,  resented  satirical  allusion  to  her 
painted  face,  false  teeth  and  hair,  especially  as 
she  was  warned,  in  very  plain  language,  that  a 
painted  bait  would  not  long  attract  her  prey. 
These  verses  were  attributed  to  one  of  the 
Bohiers,  a  nephew  or  a  son  of  the  old  coun- 
cillor who  had  built  the  chateau,  and,  to  save 
his  neck,  he  offered  Chenonceaux  to  Henry,  who 
begged  Diane  to  accept  it  and  forget  her  woes.'* 

"Which  she  did,  of  course,"  said  Walter, 
"as  she  always  seemed  to  have  had  an  eye  to 
the  main  chance." 

"I  cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  story; 
I  give  it  to  you  as  it  came  to  me.  There  is  no 
doubt,  however,  that  certain  satirical  verses 

183 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


were  written  about  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois, 
in  which  she  and  the  King  also  are  spoken  of 
with  a  freedom  not  to  be  expected  under  the  old 
regime.  Perhaps  you  are  not  familiar  with  the 
quatrain : 

" '  Sire,  si  vous  laissez,  comme  Charles  desire, 
Comme  Diane  veut,  par  trop  vous  gouverner, 
Foudre,  petrir,  mollir,  refondre,  retourner, 
Sire  vous  n'etes  plus,  vous  n'etes  plus  que  cire.' " 

"Kather  bold  language  to  use  in  speaking 
of  a  king,  to  be  told  that  he  is  but  wax  in  the 
hands  of  Diane  and  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine, ' ' 
said  Lydia;  "that  was  at  the  time  of  the  dis- 
aster of  St.  Quentin,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle;  you  seem  to  be  quite 
up  on  our  history,  which  was  really  deeply  in- 
volved in  cabals  at  this  juncture.  I  shall  be 
afraid  of  you  in  future,  as  you  probably  know 
more  about  it  all  than  I  do." 

The  French  gentleman's  natural  use  of 
Americanisms  in  speech  was  as  surprising  to 
us  as  was  Lydia 's  knowledge  of  French  history 
to  him,  and  the  ice  being  now  fairly  broken,  we 
chatted  away  gaily  as  we  passed  through  the 
handsome  dining  room,  the  ancient  salle  des 
gardes  of  Queen  Catherine,  where  our  new 

164 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

cicerone  pointed  out  to  us  in  the  painted  ceiling 
her  own  personal  cipher  interwoven  with  an 
arabesque.  From  the  great  dining  room  a  door, 
on  which  are  carved  the  arms  of  the  Bohiers, 
leads  directly,  one  might  say  abruptly,  into  a 
chapel,  "as  if,"  said  Monsieur  Crapaud,  "to 
remind  those  who  sit  at  meat  here  that  the 
things  of  the  spirit  are  near  at  hand." 

The  chapel  is  a  little  gem,  with  rich  glass 
dating  back  to  1521.  Another  door  in  the  dining 
room  leads  to  Queen  Catherine's  superbly  deco- 
rated salon,  and  still  another  to  the  apartments 
of  Louise  de  Vaudemont.  In  these  rooms,  which 
she  had  hung  in  black,  the  saintly  widow  of 
Henry  III  spent  many  years  mourning  for  a 
husband  who  had  shown  himself  quite  unworthy 
of  her  devotion.  The  more  that  we  saw  of 
this  lovely  palace,  the  better  we  understood 
Catherine's  wrath  when  she  saw  the  coveted 
possession  thrown  into  the  lap  of  her  rival. 
She  had  come  here  with  her  father-in-law, 
Francis,  as  a  bride,  and  naturally  looked  upon 
the  chateau  as  her  own. 

/"But  Diane  held  on  to  it,"  said  Walter. 
"We  have  just  been  reading  that  remarkable 
scene  when,  after  Henry  had  been  mortally 

165 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


wounded  in  the  tournament  with  Montgomery, 
Catherine  sent  messages  to  her,  demanding  pos- 
session of  the  castle.  You  remember  that  her 
only  reply  was,  'Is  the  King  yet  dead?'  and 
hearing  that  he  still  lived,  Diane  stoutly  refused 
to  surrender  her  chateau  while  breath  was  in 
his  body.  We  have  our  Dumas  with  us,  you 
see." 

"Yes,  and  here,  I  believe,  he  was  true  to 
history.  That  was  a  battle  royal  of  dames,  and 
I,  for  my  part,  have  always  regretted  that 
Diane  had  to  give  up  her  palace.  Have  you  seen 
Chaumont,  which  she  so  unwillingly  received 
in  exchange?  No !  Then  you  will  see  something 
fine  in  its  way,  but  far  less  beautiful  than 
Chenonceaux,  which  for  charm  of  situation 
stands  alone." 

And  after  all,  Diane  still  possesses  her 
chateau;  for  it  is  of  her  that  we  think  as  we 
wander  from  room  to  room.  In  the  apartment  of 
Francis  I  her  portrait  by  Primaticcio  looks 
down  from  the  wall.  As  in  life,  Diane's  beauty 
and  wit  triumphed  over  her  rivals;  over  the 
withering  hand  of  age  and  the  schemes  of  the 
unscrupulous  and  astute  daughter  of  the  Medici, 
so  in  death  she  still  dominates  the  castle  that  she 

166 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

loved.  Pray  do  not  think  that  I  am  in  love  with 
Diane ;  she  was  doubtless  wicked  and  vindictive, 
even  if  not  as  black  as  Dumas  paints  her;  but 
bad  as  she  may  have  been,  it  is  a  satisfaction  to 
think  of  her  having  for  years  outwitted  Cath- 
erine, or  as  Miss  Cassandra  said,  in  language 
more  expressive  if  less  elegant  than  that  of 
Monsieur  Crapaud,  "It  is  worth  much  to  know 
that  that  terrible  woman  for  once  did  get  her 
come  uppings." 

If  it  was  of  Diane  de  Poitiers  we  thought 
within  the  walls  of  the  chateau,  it  was  to  Mary 
Stuart  that  our  thoughts  turned  as  we  wandered 
through  the  lovely  forest  glades  of  the  park, 
under  the  overarching  trees  through  whose 
branches  the  sun  flashed  upon  the  green  turf 
and  varied  growth  of  shrubbery.  We  could 
readily  fancy  the  young  Queen  and  her  brilliant 
train  riding  gaily  through  these  shaded  paths, 
their  hawks  upon  their  wrists,  these,  according 
to  all  writers  of  the  time,  being  the  conventional 
accompaniments  of  royalty  at  play. 

Ronsard  was  doubtless  with  the  court  at 
Chenonceaux,  as  he  was  often  in  the  train  of 
the  young  Queen,  whom  he  had  instructed  in 
the  art  of  verse  making.  Like  all  the  other 

167 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


French  poets  of  his  time,  he  laid  some  of  his 
most  charming  verses  at  the  feet  of  Mary 
Stuart,  whose  short  stay  in  France  he  likened 
to  the  life  of  the  flowers. 

"  Les  roses  et  les  lis  ne  regnent  qu'un  printemps, 
Ansi  vostre  beaute  seulment  apparrue 
Quinze  ou  seize  ans  en  France  est  soudain  disparue." 

I  think  Ronsard,  as  well  as  Chastelard, 
accompanied  Mary  upon  her  sad  return  to 
Scotland  after  the  death  of  Francis,  and  how 
cold  and  barren  that  north  country  must  have 
seemed  after  the  rich  fertility  and  beauty  of 
Touraine!  Do  you  remember  our  own  impres- 
sions of  Holyrood  on  a  rainy  August  morning, 
and  the  chill  gloom  of  poor  Mary's  bedroom, 
and  the  adjoining  dismal  little  boudoir  where 
she  supped  with  Rizzio, — the  room  in  which  he 
was  murdered  as  he  clung  to  her  garments  for 
protection!  I  thought  of  it  to-day  as  we  stood 
in  the  warm  sunshine  of  the  court,  with  the 
blooming  parterres  spread  before  us,  realizing, 
as  never  before,  the  sharp  contrast  between 
such  palaces  of  pleasure  as  this  and  Mary's 
rude  northern  castles.  An  appropriate  setting 
was  this  chateau  for  the  gay,  spirited  young 

168 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

creature,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  queen  every 
inch  from  her  childhood,  with  a  full  apprecia- 
tion of  her  own  importance.  It  seems  that  she 
mortally  offended  Catherine,  when  a  mere  child, 
by  saying  that  the  Queen  belonged  to  a  family 
of  merchants  while  she  herself  was  the  daughter 
of  a  long  line  of  kings.  In  some  way,  Mary's 
words  were  repeated  to  Catherine,  who  never 
forgave  the  bitter  speech,  all  the  more  bitter  for 
its  truth. 

Finding  that  we  had  not  yet  seen  the  Galerie 
Louis  XIV,  which,  for  some  reason,  is  not  gen- 
erally shown  to  visitors,  our  friendly  cicerone 
who,  as  he  expressed  it,  knows  Chenonceaux  as 
he  knows  the  palm  of  his  hand,  conducted  us 
again  to  the  chateau.  For  him  all  doors  were 
opened,  as  by  magic,  and  we  afterwards  learned 
that  he  had  some  acquaintance  with  Monsieur 
Terry,  the  present  owner  of  this  fair  domain. 

Although  the  Galerie  Louis  XIV,  on  the 
upper  floor  of  the  long  gallery,  is  not  particu- 
larly beautiful  or  well  decorated,  it  is  interest- 
ing because  here  were  first  presented  some  of 
the  plays  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  L' Engage- 
ment Temeraire  and  Le  Devin  du  Village.  Such 
later  associations  as  this  under  the  regime  of 

169 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


the  Fermier  General  and  Madame  Dupin  are 
those  of  an  altogether  peaceful  and  homelike 
abode.  In  his  Confessions  Kousseau  says: 
"We  amused  ourselves  greatly  in  this  fine  spot. 
We  made  a  great  deal  of  music  and  acted  come- 
dies. I  wrote  a  comedy,  in  fifteen  days,  entitled 
L' Engagement  Temeraire,  which  will  be  found 
amongst  my  papers ;  it  has  not  other  merit  than 
that  of  being  lively.  I  composed  several  other 
little  things:  amongst  others  a  poem  entitled, 
L'Allee  de  Sylvie,  from  the  name  of  an  alley  in 
the  park  upon  the  banks  of  the  Cher;  and  this 
without  discontinuing  my  chemical  studies  or 
interrupting  what  I  had  to  do  for  Madame 

D n."    Rousseau  was  at  this  time  acting  as 

secretary  to  Madame  Dupin  and  her  son-in-law, 
Monsieur  Francueil.  Elsewhere  he  complains 
that  these  two  dilettanti  were  so  occupied  with 
their  own  productions  that  they  were  disposed 
to  belittle  the  genius  of  their  brilliant  secretary, 
which,  after  all,  was  not  unnatural,  as  the  '  *  New 
Eloisa"  and  his  other  famous  works  had  not 
then  been  given  to  the  world. 

Monsieur  Crapaud  explained  to  us  that 
Madame  Dupin  was  not  only  a  beauty  and  a 
precieuse,  but  an  excellent  business  woman,  so 

170 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

clever,  indeed,  that  she  managed  to  prove,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  that  Chenonceaux  had  never 
been  absolutely  crown  property  and  so  did  not 
fall  under  the  coup  de  decret.  She  retained  this 
beautiful  chateau  during  the  Revolution,  and 
lived  here  in  heroic  possession,  during  all  the 
upheavals  and  changes  of  that  tumultuous 
period. 

Thanks  to  Monsieur  Crapaud,  we  missed  no 
part  of  the  chateau,  even  to  the  kitchens,  which 
are  spacious  and  fitted  out  with  an  abundant 
supply  of  the  shining,  well-polished  coffee  pots, 
pans,  and  casseroles  that  always  make  French 
cookery  appear  so  dainty  and  appetizing.  He 
accompanied  us,  with  charming  amiability, 
through  this  most  important  department  of  the 
chateau,  and  never  once,  amid  the  evidences  of 
luxurious  living,  did  he  even  look  supercilious 
or,  as  Lydia  expressed  it  afterwards,  "As  if 
he  were  saying  to  himself,  'I  wonder  what  these 
benighted  Americans  think  of  French  cookery 
now!'  "  Not  even  when  Miss  Cassandra  asked 
her  favorite  question  in  royal  palaces,  "How 
many  in  family!"  was  there  a  ghost  of  a  smile 
upon  his  face,  and  yet  he  must  have  understood 
her,  as  he  turned  to  a  guide  and  asked  how  many 

171 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


persons  constituted  the  family  of  Monsieur 
Terry.  This  Cuban  gentleman  who  now  owns 
the  chateau  is  certainly  to  be  congratulated 
upon  his  excellent  taste;  the  restoration  of  the 
building  and  the  laying  out  of  the  grounds  are 
all  so  well  done,  the  whole  is  so  harmonious, 
instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  past,  and  yet  so 
livable  that  the  impression  left  upon  us  was  that 
of  a  happy  home.  In  the  past,  Chenonceaux 
witnessed  no  such  horrors  as  are  associated 
with  Amboise  and  so  many  of  the  beautiful 
castles  of  Touraine.  Small  wonder  that  Henry 
II  wrote  of  this  fair  palace,  as  we  read  in  a 
little  book  lying  on  one  of  the  tables:  "Le 
Chasteau  de  Chenonceau  est  assis  en  un  des 
meillures,  et  plus  beaulx  pays  de  nostre 
royaume. ' ' 

"I  must  confess  that  I  feel  sorry  for  poor 
Diana,"  said  Miss  Cassandra,  as  we  lingered 
among  the  flowers  and  shrubbery  of  the  lovely 
gardens.  "What  became  of  her  after  Catherine 
turned  her  out  of  her  chateau?" 

"You  remember,  Madame,  that  Chaumont 
was  given  her  in  exchange,  although  Catherine 
gave  her  to  understand  that  she  considered  the 
smaller  chateau  of  Anet  a  more  suitable  place 

172 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL  OF  DAMES 

for  her  to  retire  to,  her  sun  having  set.  For 
this  reason,  or  because  she  preferred  Anet, 
Madame  Diane  retired  to  this  chateau,  which 
she  had  beautified  in  her  early  years,  and  in 
whose  grounds  Jean  Goujon  had  placed  a 
charming  figure  of  herself  as  Diane  Chaseresse. 
This  marble,  destroyed  during  the  Revolution, 
has  been  carefully  restored,  and  so  Diane  now 
reigns  in  beauty  at  the  Louvre,  where  this 
statue  has  found  a  place." 

Monsieur  Crapaud,  whose  name,  it  trans- 
pires, is  La  Tour,  an  appropriate  one  and  one 
easily  remembered  in  this  part  of  the  world, 
returned  to  Tours  in  the  same  train  with  us,  and 
to  our  surprise  we  found  that  he  also  was 

stopping  at  the  Pension  B .    The  manner  in 

which  he  said  "My  family  always  stop  at  the 

Pension  B "  seemed  to  confer  an  enviable 

distinction  upon  the  little  hostel,  and  in  a  way 
to  dim  the  ancient  glories  of  the  Hotel  de 
1'Univers. 


IX 

A  FAIR  PRISON 


PENSION  B ,  TOURS,  Wednesday,  September  7th. 

WALTER  has  been  triumphing  over  me 
because,  even  after  his  unseemly  behavior  yes- 
terday, M.  La  Tour  has  formed  a  sudden 
attachment  for  him  which  is  so  strong  that  he 
insisted  upon  staying  over  to  go  with  us  to 
Loches  this  afternoon.  He  says  that  we  may 
miss  some  of  the  most  interesting  points  there 
if  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  guides,  who 
often  dwell  upon  the  least  important  things. 
Our  new  acquaintance  proved  to  be  so  alto- 
gether delightful  as  a  cicerone,  when  he  con- 
ducted us  through  the  old  streets  of  Tours  this 
morning,  that  we  are  looking  forward  with 
pleasure  to  an  afternoon  in  his  good  company. 

The  old  part  of  the  town,  M.  .La  Tour  tella 
us,  was  once  a  quite  distinct  ecclesiastical 
foundation,  called  Chateauneuf,  of  which  every 
building,  in  a  way,  depended  upon  the  Basilica 
of  St.  Martin.  When  the  dreadful  Fulk,  the 

174 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


Black,  set  fire  to  it,  in  the  tenth  century,  twen- 
ty-two churches  and  chapels  are  said  to  have 
been  destroyed.  Among  those  that  have  been 
restored  are  Notre  Dame  la  Eiche,  once  Notre 
Dame  la  Pauvre,  and  St.  Saturnin,  which  for- 
merly contained,  among  other  handsome  tombs, 
that  of  Thomas  Bohier  and  his  wife  Katherine 
Brigonnet,  the  couple  who  did  so  much  for 
Chenonceaux.  This  ancient  Chateauneuf,  like 
the  court  end  of  so  many  old  cities,  has  narrow, 
winding  streets  overtopped  by  high  buildings. 
These  twisting  streets  are  so  infinitely  pictu- 
resque with  their  sudden  turns  and  elbows  that 
we  are  quite  ready  to  overlook  their  inconveni- 
ence for  the  uses  of  our  day,  and  trust  that  no 
modern  vandalism,  under  the  name  of  progress, 
may  change  and  despoil  these  byways  of  their 
ancient  charm.  Wandering  through  the  narrow, 
quaint  streets  of  the  old  city,  with  their  steep 
gabled  and  timbered  houses,  through  whose 
grilled  or  half-opened  gates  we  catch  glimpses 
of  tiled  courtyards  and  irregular  bits  of  stone 
carving,  over  which  flowers  throw  a  veil  of  rich 
bloom,  we  feel  that  we  are  living  in  an  old  world. 
Yet  M.  La  Tour  reminds  us  that  beneath  our 
feet  lies  a  still  older  world,  for  as  we  follow 

175 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


what  is  evidently  a  wall  of  defence  we  come 
upon  the  remains  of  an  ancient  gateway  and 
suddenly  realize  that  beneath  this  Martinopolis, 
Chateauneuf  and  Tours  of  the  fifth  century, 
lie  the  temples,  amphitheatres,  and  baths  of  the 
more  ancient  Urbs  Turonum  of  the  Romans. 

In  the  midst  of  our  excursion  into  the  past, 
Miss  Cassandra  suddenly  brought  us  back  to 
the  present  by  exclaiming  that  she  would  like 
to  go  to  some  place  where  the  Romans  had  never 
been.  She  has  had  quite  enough  of  them  in 
their  own  city  and  country,  and  now  being  in 
Touraine  she  says  that  she  prefers  to  live 
among  the  French. 

M.  La  Tour  laughed  heartily,  as  he  does  at 
everything  our  Quaker  lady  says,  and  answered, 
with  French  literalness,  that  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  any  land  in  the  known  world  that  ,the 
Romans  had  not  occupied,  "  Except  your  own 
America,  Madame.'*  Then,  as  if  to  humor  her 
fancy,  he  conducted  us  by  way  of  little  streets 
with  charming  names  of  flowers,  angels,  and  the 
like,  to  the  Place  du  Grand  Marche,  where  he 
showed  Miss  Cassandra  something  quite 
French,  the  beautiful  Renaissance  fountain  pre- 
sented to  Tours  by  the  unfortunate  Jacques  de 

176 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


Beaune,  Baron  de  Semblangay.  This  fountain 
was  made  from  the  designs  of  Michel  Colombo 
by  his  nephew,  Bastian  FranQois.  It  was  broken 
in  pieces  and  thrown  aside  when  the  Rue  Royale 
was  created,  but  was  later  put  together  by  one 
of  the  good  mayors  of  Tours  and  now  stands 
on  the  Place  du  Grand  Marche,  a  lasting  monu- 
ment to  the  Baron  de  Semblangay,  treasurer 
under  Francis  I,  who  was  accused  of  malversa- 
tion, hanged  at  Montfaucon  and  his  'estates, 
Azay-le-Rideau  with  the  rest,  confiscated  by 
the  crown.  M.  La  Tour  considers  the  treat- 
ment of  the  Baron  de  Semblangay  quite  unjust, 
and  says  that  he  was  only  found  to  have  been 
guilty  of  corruption  when  he  failed  to  supply 
the  enormous  sums  of  money  required  by 
Francis  I  and  his  mother,  who,  like  the  pro- 
verbial horseleach's  daughters,  cried  ever 
"Give!  give!"  It  seems  one  of  the  reprisals 
of  time  that  the  name  of  the  donor  should  still 
be  preserved  upon  this  beautiful  Fountain  de 
Beaune  of  Tours,  as  well  as  upon  the  old  treas- 
urer's house  in  the  Rue  St.  Frangois,  a  fine 
Renaissance  building. 

From  the  Rue  du  Grand  Marche  we  turned 
into  the  Rue  du  Commerce,  where  on  the  Place 

12  177 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


de  Beaune  is  the  Hotel  de  la  Crouzille,  once  the 
Hotel  de  la  Valliere,  with  its  double  gables  and 
the  graceful,  shell-like  ornamentation  which  the 
restaurateur  who  occupies  the  house  has  wisely 
allowed  to  remain  above  his  commonplace  sign 
of  to-day.  In  the  same  street  is  the  famous 
Hotel  Gouin,  now  a  bank.  This  house,  which 
dates  back  to  the  fifteenth  century,  has  been 
carefully  restored,  and  its  whole  stone  facade, 
covered  with  charming  arabesques,  is  a  fine 
example  of  early  French  Renaissance  style. 

In  the  ancient  Eue  Brigonnet,  quite  near, — 
indeed  nothing  is  very  far  away  in  this  old 
town, — is  the  house  attributed  to  Tristan 
1'Hermite,  who  held  the  unenviable  position  of 
hangman-in-chief  to  His  Majesty,  King  Louis. 
There  is  no  foundation  for  this  tradition, 
which  probably  owes  its  origin  to  a  knotted  rope 
and  some  hooks  on  the  wall,  which  are  suffi- 
ciently suggestive  of  hanging.  This  sculptured 
cord,  or  rope,  not  unlike  the  emblem  of  Anne 
of  Brittany,  may  have  been  placed  here  in  her 
honor,  or  in  that  of  one  of  her  ladies  in  waiting, 
as  she  frequently  urged  her  attendants  to  adopt 
her  device  of  the  knotted  rope,  whose  derivation 
has  never  been  quite  understood. 

178 


HOUSE  OF  TRISTAN   L'  HERMITE 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


"However,"  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  "we 
are  not  here  in  search  of  associations  of  the 
head  executioner  of  Louis  or  of  those  of  his 
royal  master,"  and  so  we  were  free  to  enjoy  the 
beauty  of  this  fourteenth  century  house,  which 
is  quite  picturesque  enough  to  do  without  asso- 
ciations of  any  kind,  with  its  substantial  walls 
in  which  brick  and  stone  are  so  happily  com- 
bined, its  graceful  arcades,  lovely  spiral  pilas- 
ters and  richly  carved  Renaissance  doorways. 
We  noticed  the  words  Priez  Dieu  Pur  carved 
over  a  window  in  the  courtyard  which,  M.  La 
Tour  says,  is  thought  to  be  an  anagram  upon 
the  name  of  Pierre  de  Puy,  who  owned  the  house 
in  1495.  In  the  wide  paved  courtyard  is  an 
ancient  stone  well,  near  which  is  a  spiral  stair- 
way leading  to  a  loggia,  from  which  we  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  picturesque  gables  and  roofs  of 
the  old  town,  and  beyond  of  the  broad  river 
shimmering  in  the  sun,  and  still  farther  away 
of  a  line  of  low  hills  crowned  with  white  villas. 

Noticing  the  Tour  de  Guise  as  it  stood  out 
against  the  blue  sky,  M.  La  Tour  told  us  an 
interesting  tale  about  this  tower,  which  is  about 
all  that  is  left  of  the  royal  palace  built  here  or 
added  to  by  Henry  II,  who  was  also  hereditary 

179 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Count  of  An j  on,  and  did  much  building  and 
road  making  in  the  Touraine  of  his  day. 

The  young  Prince  de  Joinville,  son  of  the 
Duke  de  Guise,  who  for  some  reason  was  im- 
prisoned here  after  the  murder  of  his  father  at 
Blois,  was  permitted  to  attend  mass  on  Assump- 
tion Day,  1591.  Tasting  the  sweets  of  freedom 
in  this  brief  hour  of  respite,  the  Prince  took  his 
courage  in  his  two  hands  and  suddenly  decided 
to  make  a  bold  dash  for  liberty.  Laying  a 
wager  with  his  guards  that  he  could  run  up- 
stairs again  faster  than  they,  he  reached  his 
room  first,  bolted  the  door  and  seizing  a  cord, 
or  rope,  which  had  been  brought  to  him  by  his 
laundress,  he  made  it  fast  to  the  window,  slipped 
out  and  dropped  fifteen  feet.  With  shots 
whistling  all  about  him  he  flew  around  the  tower 
to  the  Faubourg  de  la  Riche,  where  he  leaped 
upon  the  back  of  the  first  horse  that  he  saw ;  the 
saddle  turned  and  threw  him  and  a  soldier 
came  up  suddenly  and  accosted  him.  Fortu- 
nately, the  soldier  proved,  by  some  happy 
chance,  to  be  a  Leaguer,  who  gave  him  a  fresh 
mount,  and  soon  the  Prince  had  put  many  miles 
between  himself  and  his  pursuers.  Ever  since, 
the  tower  has  borne  the  name  of  the  young 
De  Guise  who  so  cleverly  escaped  from  it. 

180 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


Wednesday  evening. 

We  experienced  what  our  Puritan  ancestors 
would  have  called  a  "fearful  joy"  during  our 
afternoon  at  Loches,  for  anything  more  horrible 
than  the  dungeons  above  ground  and  under  it 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine.  I  shall  spare  you 
a  full  description  of  them,  as  I  refused  to 
descend  into  the  darkest  depths  to  see  the  worst 
of  them,  and  Walter  is  probably  writing  Allen 
a  full-length  account  of  them, — iron  cages, 
hooks,  rings,  and  all  the  other  contrivances  of 
cruelty.  Loches,  however,  is  not  all  cells  and 
dungeons,  as  the  chateau  is  beautifully  situated 
upon  a  headland  above  the  Indre,  and  the  gray 
castle  rising  above  the  terraces,  with  its  many 
towers,  tourelles,  and  charming  pointed  win- 
dows, presents  a  picturesque  as  well  as  a  for- 
midable appearance.  Our  way  lay  by  winding 
roads  and  between  high  walls.  We  thought  our- 
selves fortunate  to  make  this  steep  circuitous 
ascent  in  a  coach;  but  once  within  the  enceinte 
of  the  castle  we  were  on  a  level  and  felt  as  if 
we  were  walking  through  the  streets  of  a  little 
village.  Many  small  white  houses,  with  pretty 
gardens  of  blooming  plants,  lie  below  the  for- 
tress on  one  side,  in  sharp  contrast  to  the 

181 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


frowning  dungeons  of  Fulk  Nerra  and  Louis 
XI  which  overshadow  them. 

The  great  square  mass  of  Fulk  Nerra 's  keep 
stood  out  dark  against  the  blue  of  the  sky 
to-day;  this  with  the  Tour  Neuf  and  the  Tour 
Bonde  are  said  to  be  the  "most  beautiful  of  all 
the  dungeons  of  France, "  as  if  a  dungeon  could 
ever  be  beautiful !  And  it  was  Louis  XI,  that 
expert  and  past  master  in  cruelty,  who  is  said 
to  have  "perfected  these  prisons,"  which  only 
needed  the  iron  cage,  designed  to  suit  the  King's 
good  pleasure,  to  complete  their  horror. 

The  invention  of  the  iron  cage  has  been 
accredited  to  Jean  la  Balue,  Bishop  of  Angers, 
and  also  to  the  Bishop  of  Verdun.  Perhaps 
both  of  these  devout  churchmen  had  a  hand  in 
the  work,  as  fate,  with  a  dash  of  irony,  and  the 
fine  impartiality  of  the  mother  who  whipped 
both  of  her  boys  because  she  could  not  find  out 
which  one  had  eaten  the  plums,  clapped  them 
both  into  iron  cages.  Louis  XI  was  in  these 
instances  the  willing  agent  of  avenging  fate. 
Cardinal  la  Balue  survived  the  sorrows  of  his 
iron  cage  for  eleven  years,  "much  longer  than 
might  have  been  expected,"  as  Mr.  Henry 
James  says,  "from  this  extraordinary  mixture 
of  seclusion  and  exposure. " 

182 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


The  historian,  Philip  de  Commines,  described 
these  cages  as  "Rigorous  prisons  plated  with 
iron  both  within  and  without  with  horrible  iron 
works,  eight  foote  square  and  one  foote  more 
than  a  man's  height.  He  that  first  devised  them 
was  the  Bishop  of  Verdun,  who  forthwith 
was  himself  put  into  the  first  that  was  made, 
where  he  remained  fourteen  years. ' ' 

Louis  was  so  enchanted  with  this  fiendish 
device  that  he  longed  to  put  all  his  state  pris- 
oners into  iron  cages.  We  are  glad  to  know 
that  when  he  recommended  this  treatment  to 
the  Admiral  of  France  for  one  of  his  captives 
of  high  degree,  the  jailer  replied,  with  a  spirit 
and  independence  to  which  the  tyrant  was  little 
wont,  "That  if  that  was  the  King's  idea  of 
how  a  prisoner  should  be  kept  he  might  take 
charge  of  this  one  himself." 

"De  Commines  knew  all  about  the  horrors 
of  the  iron  cage,"  said  M.  La  Tour,  "for  he 
was  himself  imprisoned  in  one  of  them  by  the 
Lady  of  Beaujeu,  who  was  Regent  of  France 
after  the  death  of  her  father,  Louis  XI.  De 
Commines  joined  the  Duke  of  Orleans  in  a 
conspiracy  against  the  government  of  the  Re- 
gent, which  was  discovered.  He  was  seized  and 
also  the  Duke,  afterwards  Louis  XII.  Louis 

183 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


himself  was  imprisoned  by  his  cousin  of  Beau- 
jeu  and  was  set  free  by  her  brother  Charles." 

The  guide  pointed  out  the  iron  cage  in  which 
Philip  de  Commines  was  confined,  which  was 
horrible  enough  to  answer  to  his  description. 
Some  of  the  lines  inscribed  on  the  walls  of  the 
round  tower  were  doubtless  composed  by  De 
Commines,  among  these  a  wise  saying  in  Latin 
which  Walter  deciphered  with  difficulty  and 
thus  freely  translated : 

"I  have  regretted  that  I  have  spoken;   but 
never  that  I  remained  silent.'* 

A  most  ironical  invitation,  we  read  in  the 
corridor  leading  to  the  tower:  "Entres,  Mes- 
sieurs, ches  le  Eoy  Nostre  Mestre." 

One  poor  captive,  who  showed  a  cheerful 
desire  to  make  the  best  of  his  lot,  inscribed 
upon  the  wall  of  his  cell  these  lines,  which  Lydia 
copied  for  you : 

Malgre  les  ennuis  d'une  longue  souffrance, 
Et  le  cruel  destin  dont  je  subis  la  loy, 
H  est  encor  des  biens  pour  moy, 
Le  tendre  amour  et  la  douce  esperance. 

In  the  Martelet  where  we  went  down  many 
steps,  we  saw  the   room  in  which  Ludovico 
Sforza,   Duke  of  Milan,  was  imprisoned  by 
IM 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


Louis  XII  for  eight  years,  and  the  little  sun- 
dial that  he  made  on  the  only  spot  on  the  wall 
that  the  sun  could  strike.  He  also  whiled  away 
the  weary  hours  of  captivity  by  painting  fres- 
coes on  the  walls,  which  are  still  to  be  seen. 
By  such  devices  Ludovico  probably  saved  his 
reason,  but  his  health  broke  down  and  when 
relief  came  he  seems  to  have  died  of  joy,  or 
from  the  sudden  shock  of  coming  out  into  the 
world  again.  A  sad  end  was  this  to  a  life  that 
had  begun  in  happiness  and  prosperity  and  that 
was  crowned  by  a  felicitous  marriage  with 
beautiful  Beatrice  d'Este. 

"And  why  did  Louis,  the  Father  of  his 
people,  the  good  King  Louis,  imprison  Ludovico 
all  those  years?"  asked  Miss  Cassandra. 

"King  Louis,  although  the  best  and  wisest 
King  that  France  had  known  for  many  a  day, 
was  but  mortal,"  said  M.  La  Tour,  twisting  his 
moustache  as  if  somewhat  puzzled  by  our 
Quaker  lady's  direct  question,  "and  having  a 
sound  claim  to  the  Duchy  of  Milan,  through  his 
grandmother  Valentine  Visconti,  he  proceeded 
to  make  it  good." 

"By  ousting  Ludovico,  and  his  lovely  wife, 
Beatrice,  who  was  really  far  too  good  for  him; 

185 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


but  then  most  of  the  women  were  too  good  for 
their  husbands  in  those  days,"  said  Miss 
Cassandra. 

"Fortunately,"  said  M.  La  Tour,  "the 
Duchess  of  Milan  had  died  two  years  before 
Ludovico's  capture  and  so  was  spared  the 
misery  of  knowing  that  her  husband  was  a 
prisoner  in  France." 

We  were  glad  to  emerge  from  the  dismal 
dungeons  into  the  light  and  air  by  stepping 
out  upon  a  terrace,  from  which  we  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  chateau  and  the  Collegiate  Church 
of  St.  Ours  adjoining  it. 

The  Chateau  of  Loches,  once  a  fortress 
guarding  the  Roman  highway,  later  belonged  to 
the  house  of  Anjou  and  was  for  some  years 
handed  about  by  French  and  English  owners. 
As  might  have  been  expected,  this  fortress  was 
given  away  by  John  Lackland  (whose  name 
sounds  very  odd,  done  into  French,  as  Jean- 
Sans-Terre),  but  was  regained  by  his  brother, 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  It  was  finally  sold  to 
St.  Louis,  and  the  chateau,  begun  by  Charles 
VII,  was  completed  by  Louis  XII. 

The  tower  of  Agnes  Sorel,  with  its  garden 
terrace,  is  the  most  charming  part  of  the 

186 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


chateau,  crowning,  as  it  does,  a  great  rock  on 
the  south  side  which  overlooks  the  town. 

Charles  seems  to  have  met  the  enchanting 
Agnes  while  at  Loches,  whither  she  had  come 
in  the  train  of  the  Countess  of  Anjou,  whose 
mission  to  France  was  to  gain  the  liberty  of 
her  husband,  King  Rene,  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  in  battle,  and  was  confined  in  the  Tour 
de  Bar,  which  we  saw  at  Dijon. 

From  all  accounts  Agnes  appears  to  have 
been  a  creature  of  ravishing  beauty  and  great 
charm,  as  the  ancient  chroniclers  describe  her 
with  a  complexion  of  lilies  and  roses,  a  mouth 
formed  by  the  graces,  brilliant  eyes,  whose 
vivacity  was  tempered  by  an  expression  of 
winning  sweetness,  and  a  tall  and  graceful  form. 
In  addition  to  her  personal  attraction,  this 
"Dame  de  Beaulte"  seems  to  have  had  a  sweet 
temper,  a  ready  wit,  and  judgment  far  beyond 
that  of  her  royal  lover.  According  to  many 
historians,  Agnes  was  the  good  angel  of  the 
King's  life,  as  Joan,  the  inspired  Maid,  had 
been  in  a  still  darker  period  of  his  reign. 
Brantome  relates  a  story  of  the  favorite's  clever 
and  ingenious  method  of  rousing  Charles  from 
his  apathy  and  selfish  pursuit  of  pleasure  while 

187 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


the  English,  under  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  were 
ravaging  his  kingdom.  "It  had  been  foretold 
in  her  childhood,  by  an  astrologer,"  said  Agnes, 
"that  she  should  be  beloved  by  one  of  the 
bravest  and  most  valiant  kings  in  Christendom," 
adding,  with  fine  sarcasm,  *  *  that  when  Charles 
had  paid  her  the  compliment  of  loving  her 
she  believed  him  to  be,  in  truth,  this  valorous 
king  of  whom  she  had  heard,  but  now  seeing 
him  so  indifferent  to  his  duty  in  resisting  King 
Henry,  who  was  capturing  so  many  towns  under 
his  very  nose,  she  realized  that  she  was  de- 
ceived and  that  this  valorous  king  must  be  the 
English  sovereign,  whom  she  had  better  seel^, 
as  he  evidently  was  the  one  meant  by  the 
astrologer." 

"Brantome  was  a  bit  out  here,"  said  M.  La 
Tour,  "as  Henry  V.  had  died  some  years  before 
and  his  son  Henry  VI  was  only  six  or  seven 
years  of  age  at  this  time,  and  it  was  the  Duke 
of  Bedford  who  was  ravaging  the  fair  fields  of 
France  and  taking  the  King's  towns  a  sa  barbe. 
However,  that  is  only  a  detail  as  you  Americans 
say,  and  there  must  be  some  foundation  for 
Brantome 's  story  of  Agnes  having  aroused  the 
King  to  activity  by  her  cleverness  and  spirit,  for 


AGNES  SOREL 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


more  than  one  historian  gives  her  the  credit 
of  this  good  work  for  Charles  and  for  France. 
You  remember  that  Brantome  says  that  these 
words  of  the  belle  des  belles  so  touched  the 
heart  of  the  King  that  he  wept,  took  courage, 
quitted  the  chase,  and  was  so  valiant  and  so 
fortunate  that  he  was  able  to  drive  the  English 
from  his  kingdom." 

"It  is  a  charming  little  tale,"  said  Lydia, 
"and  I,  for  one,  do  not  propose  to  question  it. 
Brantome  may  have  allowed  his  imagination 
to  run  away  with  him;  but  the  good  influence 
of  Agnes  must  have  been  acknowledged  in  her 
own  time  and  later,  or  Francis  I  would  not 
have  written  of  her : 

" '  Plus  de  louange  son  amour  s'y  merite 
Etant  cause  de  France  recouvrer ! '  " 

"And  I,  for  my  part,  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it!"  said  Miss  Cassandra  emphatically. 
"No  ordinary  girl,  no  matter  how  handsome 
she  might  be,  would  sit  up  and  talk  like  that 
to  a  great  King.  I  call  it  downright  imperti- 
nent; she  wasn't  even  a  titled  lady,  much  less 
a  princess." 

For  a  Quaker,  Miss  Cassandra  certainly  has 
a  great  respect  for  worldly  honors  and  titles, 

18$ 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


and  Lydia  took  pleasure  in  reminding  her  that 
Joan  of  Arc  was  only  a  peasant  girl  of  Dom- 
remy,  and  yet  she  dared  to  speak  boldly  to 
Charles,  her  King. 

"That  was  quite  different,  my  dear,"  said 
Miss  Cassandra.  "Joan  was  an  honest  maid 
to  begin  with,  and  then  she  was  raised  quite 
above  her  station  by  her  spiritual  manifesta- 
tions, and  she  had  what  the  Friends  call  a 
concern." 

Then  noticing  the  puzzled  expression  on  M. 
La  Tour's  face,  she  explained:  "I  mean  some- 
thing on  her  mind  and  conscience  with  regard 
to  the  King  and  the  redemption  of  France,  what 
you  would  call  a  mission. ' ' 

"Yes,"  Lydia  added,  "une  mission  is  the 
best  translation  of  the  word  that  I  can  think 
of;  but  it  does  not  give  the  full  meaning  of 
the  expression  'to  have  a  concern,'  "  and  as 
he  still  looked  puzzled,  she  added,  comfortingly : 
"You  need  not  wonder,  Monsieur,  that  you  do 
not  quite  understand  what  my  aunt  means,  for 
born  and  bred  in  Quakerdom  as  I  have  been, 
I  never  feel  that  I  grasp  the  full  spiritual 
significance  of  the  expression  as  the  older 
Friends  use  it." 

190 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


For  some  years  Charles  seems  to  have  been 
under  the  spell  of  the  beauty  and  charm  of 
Agnes  Sorel,  upon  whom  he  bestowed  honors, 
titles,  and  lands,  the  Chateau  of  Loches  among 
other  estates.  From  her  false  dream  of  hap- 
piness the  royal  favorite  was  rudely  awakened 
by  the  Dauphin,  afterwards  Louis  XI,  who  en- 
tered the  room  where  the  Queen's  ladies  in 
waiting  were  seated,  and  marching  up  to  Agnes 
in  a  violent  rage,  spoke  to  her  in  the  most 
contemptuous  language,  struck  her  on  the  cheek, 
it  is  said,  and  gave  her  to  understand  that  she 
had  no  right  to  be  at  the  court. 

"Which,"  as  Miss  Cassandra  remarks, 
"was  only  too  true,  although  the  Dauphin,  even 
at  this  early  age,  had  enough  sins  of  his  own 
to  look  after,  without  undertaking  to  set  his 
father's  house  in  order." 

Agnes  took  to  heart  the  Dauphin 's  cruel 
words,  and  resisting  all  the  solicitations  of  the 
King,  parted  from  him  and  retired  to  a  small 
house  in  the  town  of  Loches,  where  she  lived 
for  five  years,  devoting  herself  to  penitence  and 
good  works. 

"It  seems,"  said  Miss  Cassandra,  <"that 
repentance  and  sorrow  for  sin  was  the  par- 

191 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ticular  business  of  the  women  in  those  days; 
when  the  men  were  in  trouble  they  generally 
went  a  hunting. ' ' 

M.  La  Tour,  being  a  Frenchman,  evidently 
considers  this  a  quite  proper  arrangement, 
although  he  reminded  Miss  Cassandra  that  the 
wicked  Fulk  Nerra,  "your  Angevin  ancestor," 
as  he  calls  him,  "expiated  for  his  sins  with 
great  rigor  in  the  Holy  Land,  as  he  dragged  him- 
self, half  naked,  through  the  streets  of  Jeru- 
salem, while  a  servant  walked  on  each  side 
scourging  him." 

After  living  quietly  at  Loches  for  five  years 
Agnes  one  day  received  a  message  that  greatly 
disturbed  her  and  caused  her  to  set  forth  with 
all  haste  for  Paris.  Arrived  there,  and  learn- 
ing that  the  King  was  at  Jumieges  for  a  few 
days'  rest  after  the  pacification  of  Normandy, 
she  repaired  thither  and  had  a  long  interview 
with  him.  As  Agnes  left  the  King  she  said  to 
one  of  her  friends  that  she  "had  come  to  save 
the  King  from  a  great  danger."  Four  hours 
later  she  was  suddenly  seized  with  excruciating 
pain  and  died  soon  after.  It  was  thought  by 
many  persons  that  the  former  royal  favorite 
was  poisoned  by  the  Dauphin;  but  this  has 
never  been  proved. 

192 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


The  body  of  Agnes  Sorel  was,  according 
to  her  own  request,  transported  to  Loches  and 
buried  in  the  choir  of  the  Collegiate  Church 
of  St.  Ours,  where  it  rested  for  many  years. 
The  beautiful  tomb  was  first  placed  in  the 
church,  but  was  later  removed  to  the  tower 
where  it  stands  to-day  and  where  Agnes  still 
reigns  in  beauty.  Upon  a  sarcophagus  of  black 
marble  is  a  reclining  figure,  modest  and  seemly, 
the  hands  folded  upon  the  breast,  two  lambs 
guarding  the  feet,  while  two  angels  support 
the  cushion  upon  which  rests  the  lovely  head 
of  la  belle  des  belles,  whose  face  in  life  is  said 
to  have  had  the  bloom  of  flowers  in  the  spring- 
time. The  inscription  upon  the  tomb  is : 

"Here  lies  the  noble  Damoyselle  Agnes 
Seurelle,  in  her  life  time  Lady  of  Beaulte,  of 
Roquesserie,  of  Issouldun,  of  Vernon-sur- Seine. 
Kind  and  pitiful  to  all  men,  she  gave  liberally 
of  her  goods  to  the  Church  and  to  the  poor. 
She  died  the  ninth  day  of  February  of  the 
Year  of  Grace  1449.  Pray  for  her  soul.  Amen." 

You  may  remember  that  at  the  Abbey  of 
Jumieges  we  saw  a  richly  carved  sarcophagus 
which  contains  the  heart  of  Agnes  Sorel.  M. 
La  Tour  says  that  she  left  a  legacy  to  Jumieges, 
with  the  request  that  her  heart  should  be  buried 

13  193 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


in  the  abbey.  At  one  time  a  beautiful  kneeling 
figure  of  Agnes,  offering  her  heart  to  the  Virgin 
in  supplication,  surmounted  the  black  marble 
sarcophagus ;  but  this  was  destroyed,  when  and 
how  it  is  not  known. 

In  one  of  the  oldest  parts  of  the  chateau 
are  the  bedroom  and  oratory  of  Anne  of  Brit- 
tany. From  these  rooms  there  is  a  lovely  view 
of  the  Indre  and  of  the  old  town  with  its  steep 
gables,  crenelated  roofs,  and  picturesque  chim- 
neys. The  walls  of  the  little  oratory  are  richly 
decorated  with  exquisite  carvings  of  the  Queen's 
devices,  the  tasseled  cord  and  the  ermine,  which 
even  a  coat  of  whitewash  has  not  deprived  of 
their  beauty. 

M.  La  Tour,  whom  Lydia  has  dubbed  "our 
H.B.B."  handy-book  of  reference,  tells  us  that 
the  origin  of  Queen  Anne's  favorite  device  is 
so  far  back  in  history  that  it  is  somewhat 
mythical.  The  ermine  of  which  she  was  so 
proud  is  said  to  have  come  from  her  ancestress, 
Madame  Inoge,  wife  of  Brutus  and  daughter 
of  Pindarus  the  Trojan.  It  appears  that  during 
a  hunting  expedition  an  ermine  was  pursued 
by  the  dogs  of  King  Brutus.  The  poor  little 
creature  took  refuge  in  the  lap  of  Inoge,  who 

194 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


saved  it  from  death,  fed  it  for  a  long  time  and 
adopted  an  ermine  as  her  badge. 

We  had  spent  so  much  time  in  the  Chateau 
Koyale  and  in  the  various  dungeons  that  there 
was  little  space  left  for  a  visit  to  the  very 
remarkable  Church  of  St.  Ours  adjoining  the 
chateau,  which,  as  Viollet  le  Due  says,  has  a 
remarkable  and  savage  beauty  of  its  own.  After 
seeing  what  is  left  of  the  girdle  of  the  Virgin, 
which  the  verger  thought  it  very  important  that 
we  should  see,  we  spent  what  time  we  had  left  in 
gazing  up  at  the  interesting  corbeling  of  the 
nave  and  the  two  hollow,  stone  pyramids  that 
form  its  roof. 

Miss  Cassandra  and  I  flatly  refused  to  de- 
scend into  the  depths  below,  although  the  verger 
with  a  lighted  candle  stood  ready  to  conduct 
us  into  a  subterranean  chapel,  which  was,  at 
one  time,  connected  with  the  chateau.  We  had 
seen  quite  enough  of  underground  places  for 
one  day,  and  were  glad  to  pass  on  into  the 
more  livable  portion  of  the  castle,  which  is  now 
inhabited  by  the  sous-prefect  of  the  district, 
and  from  thence  into  the  open,  where  we  stopped 
to  rest  under  the  wide-spreading  chestnut  tree 
planted  here  by  Francis  I  so  many  years  since, 

195 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


M.  La  Tour  reminds  us,  among  other  asso- 
ciations of  Loches,  that  the  Seigneur  de  Saint 
Vallier,  the  father  of  Diane  de  Poitiers,  whose 
footsteps  we  followed  at  Chenonceaux,  was  once 
imprisoned  here.  Even  the  powerful  influence 
of  Diane  scarcely  gained  her  father's  pardon 
from  Francis  I.  His  sentence  had  been  pro- 
nounced and  he  was  mounting  the  steps  of 
the  scaffold  when  the  reprieve  came. 

With  our  minds  filled  with  the  varied  and 
vivid  associations  of  Loches,  we  left  the  castle 
enclosure  and  from  without  the  walls  we  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  massive  dungeons,  the  Chateau 
Eoyal,  with  the  beautiful  tower  of  Agnes  Sorel, 
and  the  charming  terrace  beside  it.  Through 
many  crooked,  winding  lanes  and  postern  doors 
M.  La  Tour  conducted  us  by  the  gate  of  the 
Cordeliers,  with  its  odd  fifteenth  century  tur- 
rets, to  a  neat  little  garden  cafe.  Here  we 
refreshed  ourselves  with  tea  and  some  very 
dainty  little  cakes  that  are  a  specialite  de  la 
maison,  while  Walter  gracefully  mounted  his 
hobby,  which,  as  you  have  doubtless  gathered 
ere  this,  is  the  faithfulness  of  Alexander  Dumas 
to  history-  ' '  What  need  had  Dumas  to  call  upon 
his  imagination  when  the  court  life  of  France, 

196 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


under  the  Valois  and  Bourbons,  furnished  all 
the  wonders  of  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights!" 
Walter  really  becomes  eloquent  when  launched 
upon  his  favorite  subject,  and  indeed  we  all 
are,  more  or  less,  under  the  spell  of  Dumas  and 
Balzac.  With  the  heroes  and  heroines  of 
Alexandre  Dumas,  we  have  spent  so  many 
delightful  hours  that  Touraine  seems,  in  a 
way,  to  belong  to  them.  It  would  not  sur- 
prise us  very  much  to  have  Porthos,  Athos, 
and  Aramis  gallop  up  behind  our  carriage  and 
demand  our  passports,  or  best  of  all  to 
see  that  good  soldier  and  perfect  gentleman, 
D'Artagnan,  standing  before  us  with  sword 
unsheathed  ready  to  cut  and  come  again;  but 
always  it  must  be  remembered  quite  as  reck- 
less of  his  own  precious  skin  as  of  that  of  his 
enemies. 

"I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  again  see  their 
like  upon  the  pages  of  romance,"  said  Walter 
turning  to  M.  La  Tour. 

' '  Good  soldiers  and  brave  gentlemen,  better 
and  braver  than  the  royal  masters  whom  they 
served  so  faithfully!"  said  M.  La  Tour,  raising 
his  hand  in  the  delightfully  dramatic  fashion 
of  the  French  as  if  proposing  a  toast:  "May 

197 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


their  memories  long  linger  in  Touraine  and  the 
Blesois,  which  they  have  glorified  by  their  deeds 
of  valor!" 

What  do  you  think  we  have  been  doing  this 
evening?  Still  under  the  spell  of  Loches  and 
its  weird  associations,  we  have  been  trying  to 
turn  the  French  verse,  which  Lydia  copied  for 
you,  into  metrical  English.  It  seemed  so 
strange  that  we  four  twentieth  century  Ameri- 
cans and  one  Franco- American  should  be  trans- 
lating the  pathetic  little  verse  of  the  poor  pris- 
oner who, 

"  MalgrS  les  ennuis  d'une  longue  souffrance" 

kept  up  a  brave  heart  and  counted  his  blessings. 
We  all  tried  our  hand  at  it,  Miss  Cassandra, 
M.  La  Tour  and  all.  I  send  you  the  verse  that 
seemed  to  our  umpire  the  best.  One  of  the 
charming  Connecticut  ladies,  whom  we  met  at 
Amboise,  called  upon  us  this  evening  and  was 
kind  enough  to  act  as  umpire  in  our  little  war 
of  wits.  She  was  so  polite  as  to  say  that  all 
of  the  translations  were  so  good  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  choose  between  them,  but  this  is  the  one 
that  she  thought  most  in  the  spirit  of  the 
original  lines: 

198 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


Despite  the  weary  hours  of  pain 
A  cruel  fate  ordains  for  me, 
Some  dear  possessions  yet  there  be; 

Sweet  hope  and  tender  love  remain. 

It  is  for  you  to  guess  who  wrote  this  verse. 
One  thing  I  tell  you  to  help  you  out  or  to  puzzle 
you  still  more  with  your  guessing,  M.  La  Tour 
wrote  one  of  the  verses ;  his  knowledge  of  Eng- 
lish construction  is  remarkable.* 

This  young  Frenchman,  who  is  usually  po- 
litely reticent  about  his  own  affairs,  although 
so  generously  expansive  in  communicating 
his  historic  and  legendary  lore,  confided  to 
Walter,  this  evening,  in  the  intimacy  of  smok- 
ing together,  that  his  mother  is  an  American. 


*  Mrs.  Leonard  added  a  postcript  to  her  letter  in  which 
she  gave  Mrs.  Ramsey  two  other  translations,  askiog  her 
which  she  thought  M.  La  Tour  had  written: 

Despite  these  dragging  hours  wherein  I  prove 
The  painful  weight  of  destiny's  decree, 
Yet  fare  I  well,  for  none  can  take  from  me 

The  gifts  of  gentle  hope  and  tender  love. 

Despite  the  dreariness  of  durance  long  and  sore, 
Where  fate's  relentless  hand  still  holds  me  fast, 

My  dungeon  I  have  made  my  treasure-house ;  its  store 
Is  love,  and  hope  for  freedom  at  the  last. 
199 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


This  accounts  for  his  perfect  and  idiomatic 
English  and  for  his  knowledge  of  our  cities. 
He  talks  about  Washington,  Philadelphia,  New 
York,  and  Boston  as  if  he  had  seen  them  and 
yet  he  has  never  crossed  the  water,  being  like 
most  Frenchmen  entirely  satisfied  with  what 
his  own  country  affords  him. 

Since  Walter  has  learned  that  M.  La  Tour 
is  half  American,  he  begs  to  be  allowed  to  call 
him  Mr.  La  Tour.  Foreign  handles  and  titles, 
as  he  expresses  it,  do  not  sit  easily  upon  his 
tongue. 

The  Frenchman  laughed  good  naturedly  at 
this  and  said,  "Yes,  yes,  M.  Leonard,  call  me 
what  you  will.  Philippe  is  my  name ;  why  not 
Philippe?" 

Walter  says  this  would  be  quite  as  bad  as 
Monsieur,  unless  he  could  change  it  to  plain 
Philip,  which  would  seem  quite  too  simple  and 
unadorned  a  name  for  so  elegant  and  decorative 
a  being  as  M.  Philippe  Edouard  La  Tour,  who 
shines  forth  radiantly  in  the  rather  sombre 

surroundings  of  the  Pension  B like  the 

gilded  youth  that  he  is.    What  havoc  he  would 

make  among  the  hearts  of  the  pensionnaires  if 

this  were  indeed  the  young  ladies'  seminary 

200 


A  FAIR  PRISON 


that  Walter  calls  it!  M.  La  Tour  is  particu- 
larly resplendent  in  evening  costume,  and  when 

he  appears  equipped  for  dining  Madame  B 

calls  him  "beau  gargon."  He  possesses,  as 
Miss  Cassandra  says,  that  most  illusive  and  in- 
describable quality  which  we  call  distinction 
for  lack  of  a  better  word.  While  admiring  him 
immensely,  she  solemnly  warns  Lydia  against 
the  wiles  of  foreigners.  And  I  think  myself 
that  Archie  had  better  turn  his  steps  this  way 
if  he  expects  to  find  Lydia  heart  whole,  as  M. 
La  Tour  loses  no  opportunity  of  paying  her 
charming  little  attentions  in  the  way  of  choice 
offerings,  from  the  flower  market  on  the 
Boulevard  Beranger  near  by.  This  evening  he 
produced  some  delicious  bonbons  which  he  must 
have  imported  from  Paris  for  her  delectation, 
although  I  must  admit  that  they  were  properly 
and  decorously  presented  to  Madame  Leonard, 
your  old,  and,  to-night,  your  very  sleepy  friend, 

ZELPHINE. 


X 

COMPENSATIONS 


TOURS,  THURSDAY,  September  8th. 

WE  HAVE  been  having  what  they  call ' '  golden 
weather"  here;  but  to-day  the  skies  are  over- 
cast, which  does  not  please  us,  although  this 
cloudy  weather  may  still  be  golden  to  the  wise 
Tourangeau,  who,  as  George  Sand  said,  * '  knows 
the  exact  value  of  sun  or  rain  at  the  right 
moment." 

This  most  unpromising  day  is  our  one  op- 
portunity to  see  Chinon,  and  as  luck  will  have 
it  Miss  Cassandra  is  laid  up  in  lavender,  with 
a  crick  in  her  back,  the  result,  she  says,  of  her 
imprisonment  at  Loches  yesterday,  and  what 
would  have  become  of  her,  she  adds,  if  she  had 
sojourned  there  eight  or  nine  long  years  like 
poor  Ludovico?  The  threatening  skies  and 
Miss  Cassandra's  indisposition  would  be  quite 
enough  to  keep  us  at  home,  or  to  tempt  us  to 
make  some  short  excursion  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Tours,  were  we  not  lured  on  by  that  ignis 


COMPENSATIONS 


fatuus  of  the  traveler,  the  unexplored  worlds 
which  lie  beyond.  There  will  be  so  much  to  be 
seen  in  and  near  Blois,  and  in  order  to  have 
time  for  the  chateau,  and  to  make  the  excursions 
to  Chambord  and  the  other  castles,  we  must 
be  at  Blois  to-morrow  evening.  So  this  is  the 
only  day  for  Chinon,  which  Walter  wishes  so 
much  to  see  while  M.  La  Tour  is  with  us. 

Although,  like  Mr.  Henry  James,  I  may  be 
obliged  to  write  you  that  I  have  not  seen  Chinon 
at  all,  I  decided  to  stay  at  home  to-day  with 
Miss  Cassandra  and  sent  the  men  off  to  Chinon, 
Lydia  with  them.  Miss  Cassandra  expostulated 
and  so  did  Walter  and  Lydia;  but  I  held  my 
position  with  great  firmness,  and  I  observed 
that  the  trio  set  forth  without  me  in  gay  good 
spirits.  Of  course  my  good  man  will  miss  me, 
especially  when  he  comes  across  the  interesting 
Joan  of  Arc  landmarks ;  but  he  is  in  excellent 
company  with  M.  La  Tour,  and  I  have  gained 
a  day  of  repose  which  one  needs  when  the  asso- 
ciations are  as  interesting  and  thrilling  as  they 
are  here  in  Touraine.  Miss  Cassandra  slept  so 
sweetly  all  morning  that  I  had  another  long 
ramble  in  and  out  of  the  quaint  streets  of  the 
ancient  Chateauneuf,  which  is  what  you  and  I 

203 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


love  best  to  do  in  old  cities  whose  very  stones, 
like  those  of  Venice,  are  written  over  with 
legend  and  story.  The  sun  came  out  at  noon, 
and  I  was  fortunate  in  getting  enough  light  on 
the  house  of  Tristan  1'Hermite  to  take  a  photo- 
graph from  the  court,  which  will  give  you  some 
idea  of  this  interesting  old  building.  So  you 
see  my  day  at  home  has  had  its  compensations, 
a  crowning  one  being  a  letter  from  Archie, 
who  is  in  Paris,  saying  that  he  would  join  us 
at  Blois  to-morrow.  This  news  proved  so 
stimulating  to  Miss  Cassandra  that  she  was 
able  to  get  up  and  come  downstairs  in  time 
to  greet  the  travelers  on  their  return  from 
Chinon.  They  were  most  enthusiastic  over  their 
morning  among  the  ruins,  and  full  of  the  lore 
of  the  old  stronghold  where  the  Maid  of 
Orleans  first  met  the  King,  Lydia  quoting: 

"  Petite  ville  grand  renom 
As&ise  sur  pierre  ancienne 
Au  haut  le  bois,  au  pied  la  Vienne," 

until  I  stopped  their  rhapsodies  over  the  ancient 
by  giving  them  my  bit  of  up-to-date  informa- 
tion that  Archie  was  en  route  for  Blois.  Walter 
uttered  such  a  shout  of  joy  as  this  old  hostel 
has  not  heard  since  the  victories  of  the  first 

204 


COMPENSATIONS 


Napoleon  were  celebrated  here.  I  tried  to  see 
Lydia's  face,  but  she  turned  away  at  the  critical 
moment  to  speak  to  Miss  Cassandra,  and  so  I 
lost  my  chance  of  seeing  whether  she  was  sur- 
prised and  excited  over  my  news.  When  she 
turned  to  me  later  and  said,  "How  glad  I  am 
for  you,  Zelphine,  and  what  a  pleasant  addition 
Dr.  Vernon  will  make  to  the  party,"  her  face 
wore  its  wonted  expression  of  sweet  composure. 

Walter  says,  "You  really  must  see  Chinon, 
Zelphine;  we  can  make  a  separate  trip  there 
with  Archie.  It  is  much  farther  from  Blois 
than  from  Tours,  but  by  taking  a  motor  car 
we  can  go  to  Angers  at  the  same  time. ' ' 

Mr.  La  Tour  (you  notice  that  I  take  Walter's 
privilege  in  writing  of  him)  says  that  we  really 
should  pay  our  respects  to  Angers,  the  cradle 
of  our  Angevin  kings.  He  quite  resents  Mr. 
Henry  James  having  written  down  this  old 
town  in  his  notebook  as  a  "sell,"  and  says  that 
although  Angers  has  become  a  flourishing, 
modern  city,  there  is  much  of  the  old  town 
left  and  the  chateau  is  well  worth  seeing. 

Like  John  Evelyn,  we  have  found  the  so- 
journment  so  agreeable  here  that  we  could  stay 
on  and  on  for  weeks,  spending  our  days  in 

205 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


visiting  one  interesting  chateau  after  another. 
We  want  so  much  to  see  Villandry  and  Usse, 
and  we  would  love  to  have  a  day  at  Mme.  de 
Sevigne's,  Les  Eochers,  or  better  still  at 
Chantilly,  where  poor  Vatel,  the  cook,  through 
the  letters  of  la  belle  Marquise  and  the  failure 
of  the  fish  supply,  took  his  place  one  summer 
day  among  the  immortals.  Lydia  reminds  me 
that  the  Chateau  of  Chantilly  is  too  far  north 
to  be  easily  reached  from  here,  but  La  Chatre 
is  not  far  away,  and  a  day  and  night  among 
the  haunts  of  George  Sand  would  be  a  rare 
pleasure,  especially  if  we  could  drive  to  Nohant 
along  the  road  once  travelled  by  such  guests 
of  the  novelist  as  Theophile  Gautier,  Dumas, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  and  Balzac.  The  latter 
found  her  living,  as  he  says,  after  his  own  plan 
' '  turned  topsy-turvy ;  that  is  to  say,  she  goes  to 
bed  at  six  in  the  morning  and  rises  at  midday, 
whilst  I  retire  at  six  in  the  evening  and  rise  at 
midnight." 

Miss  Cassandra,  who  in  whatever  portion 
of  the  globe  she  may  be  travelling  is  sure  to 
meet  people  with  whom  she  has  a  link  of  ac- 
quaintance or  association,  has  discovered  in  the 
course  of  a  long  talk  with  M.  La  Tour,  this 

206 


COMPENSATIONS 


evening,  that  she  knows  some  of  his  American 
relatives.  Indeed  his  Browns  (how  much 
more  distinguished  Le  Brun  would  sound!)  are 
connected  in  some  way  with  her  family,  and 
she  and  M.  La  Tour  are  delighted  to  claim 
cousinship  through  these  New  York  Browns. 
I  am  sure  that  to  establish  the  exact  degree  of 
relationship  would  defy  the  skill  of  the  most 
expert  genealogist ;  but  they  are  quite  satisfied 
with  even  a  remote  degree  of  kinship,  especially 
as  this  discovery  brings  Lydia,  in  a  way,  into 
the  La  Tour  connection. 

M.  La  Tour,  who  talks  of  visiting  his 
American  relatives  next  winter,  is  evidently 
preparing  himself  in  more  ways  than  one  for 
his  projected  trip.  Although  his  English  is 
faultless,  he  seems  to  think  it  important  to  be 
familiar  with  a  certain  amount  of  American 
slang.  Yesterday  he  turned  to  me,  with  a  quite 
helpless  expression  upon  his  handsome  face,  ex- 
claiming, "This  *word  'crazy*  •that  the 
Americans  use  so  much — I  am  crazy  about  this 
and  crazy  about  that, — now  what  does  that 
mean,  Madame! — fou  de  ceci,  fou  de  celaf 
V raiment  il  me  semble  qu'ils  sont  tous  un  pen 
foul" 

207 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  quite  agreed  with 
M.  La  Tour,  and  after  I  had  given  him  the  best 
explanation  in  my  power,  he  laughed  and  said : 
"It  appears  that  what  you  call  Quakers  do  not 
use  this  extreme  language  so  much.  Miss  Mott, 
for  example,  never  uses  such  expressions. ' ' 
Yesterday,  when  a  party  of  our  compatriots 
were  drinking  tea  at  a  table  near  us,  he  was 
again  much  puzzled.  * '  These  young  people  all 
say  that  they  are  'passing  away'  on  account 
of  the  heat  of  the  sun,  from  fatigue,  for  various 
reasons.  Now  what  is  it  to  pass  away,  is  it 
not  to  die,  to  vanish  from  the  earth?" 

The  seriousness  of  his  manner,  as  he  gave 
us  this  literal  and  somewhat  poetical  translation 
of  the  popular  slang  of  the  day,  so  amused 
Walter  that  I  had  to  send  him  off  to  make 
some  inquiries  about  the  route  in  order  to  pre- 
vent an  outburst  of  laughter  which  our  French 
friend,  who  is  endowed  with  little  sense  of 
humor,  could  never  have  understood.  Dear 
Miss  Cassandra,  who  enjoyed  the  humor  of  the 
situation  quite  as  much  as  any  of  us,  but  pos- 
sesses the  rare  gift  of  laughing  inwardly  (the 
Friends  do  so  many  things  inwardly  while 
presenting  a  serene  face  to  the  world),  ex- 


COMPENSATIONS 


claimed:  "One  of  the  foolish  exaggerations  of 
our  modern  speech!  You  will  probably  notice 
that  the  young  people  who  are  always  passing 
away  are  usually  uncommonly  healthy  and 
strong  and  blessed  with  vigorous  appetites.  For 
my  part,  I  consider  it  tempting  Providence  to 
be  always  talking  about  passing  away;  but  of 
course,"  her  pride  coming  to  the  fore,  "the 
best  people  among  us  do  not  use  such  expres- 
sions." 

HOTEL  DE  FRANCE,  BLOIS,  September  9th. 

As  Blois  is  only  about  an  hour  from  Tours, 
we  reached  here  some  time  before  Archie  ap- 
peared, and  thus  had  time  to  feel  quite  at  home 
in  this  pleasant  little  hotel,  and  to  kill  the  fatted 
calf  in  honor  of  his  arrival.  This  latter  cere- 
mony was  exceedingly  simple,  consisting,  as  it 
did,  in  supplementing  the  fairly  good  table 
d'hote  luncheon  with  a  basket  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  delicious  fruit.  Such  blushing  velvet 
skinned  peaches  as  these  of  the  Blesois  we 
have  not  seen,  even  in  Tours,  and  the  green 
plums  of  Queen  Claude  are  equally  delectable 
if  not  as  decorative  as  the  peaches.  These,  with 
great  clusters  of  grapes,  and  a  bottle  of  the 
white  wine  of  Voudray,  which  Walter  added  to 

14  209 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


the  menu,  made  a  feast  for  the  gods  to  which 
Archie  did  ample  justice.  He  looks  handsomer 
than  ever,  and  as  brown  as  a  Spaniard  after 
the  sea  voyage.  I  am  glad  that  we  are  by  our- 
selves, agreeable  as  M.  La  Tour  is,  for  as  you 
know,  Archie  does  not  care  much  for  strangers 
and  our  little  family  party  is  so  pleasant.  Ar- 
chie's idea  of  enjoying  a  holiday  is  to  motor 
from  morning  until  night.  We  humored  his  fancy 
this  afternoon  and  had  a  long  motor  tour,  going 
through  Montbazon  and  Couzieres,  which  we 
had  not  yet  seen,  although  we  were  quite  near 
both  places  at  Loches.  Our  chauffeur,  knowing 
by  instinct  that  Lydia  and  I  were  of  inquiring 
minds,  told  us  that  Queen  Marie  de  Medicis 
came  from  Montbazon  to  Couzieres  after  her 
escape  from  Blois,  and  that  here  she  and  her 
son  Louis  were  reconciled  in  the  presence  of  a 
number  of  courtiers.  This  royal  peacemaking 
we  have  always  thought  one  of  the  most  amus- 
ing of  Kubens's  great  canvases  at  the  Louvre, 
as  he  very  cleverly  gives  the  impression  that 
neither  the  Queen  nor  her  son  is  taking  the 
matter  seriously. 

You  will  scarcely  believe  me,  I  fear,  when 
I  tell  you  that  we  only  stopped  at  one  chateau 
this  afternoon.    This  was  Archie's  afternoon, 
210 


COMPENSATIONS 


you  know,  but  the  Chateau  of  Beauregard  is  so 
near  that  we  simply  could  not  pass  it  by,  and 
the  drive  through  the  forest  of  Eussy  in  which 
it  stands  was  delightful.  The  chateau  was 
closed  to  visitors,  for  which  Archie  said  he  was 
thankful,  which  rather  shocked  Lydia,  who  is 
as  conscientious  in  her  sightseeing  as  about 
everything  else  that  she  does.  It  was  a  disap- 
pointment to  her  and  to  me,  as  there  is  a 
wonderful  collection  of  pictures  there,  an  un- 
broken series,  they  tell  us,  including  the  great 
folk  of  fifteen  reigns.  Suddenly  realizing  our 
disappointment,  Archie  became  quite  contrite 
and  did  everything  in  his  power  to  gain  a  sight 
of  the  treasures  for  us,  but  to  no  purpose,  as 
the  concierge  was  absolutely  firm,  even  with  the 
lure  of  silver  before  his  eyes,  and  when  he  told 
us  that  the  family  was  in  residence  we  knew 
that  it  was  quite  hopeless  to  expect  to  enter. 
The  Duchesse  de  Dino,  whose  interesting 
memoirs  have  been  published  lately,  was  the 
chatelaine  of  Beauregard  in  the  early  years  of 
the  last  century. 

We  had  a  delightful  afternoon,  despite  our 

disappointment  about  the  chateau,  and  in  the 

course  of  this  ride  Archie,  who  can  understand 

almost  no  French,  extracted  more  information 

211 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


from  the  chauffeur  with  regard  to  the  soil, 
products,  crops,  and  characteristics  of  Touraine 
than  the  rest  of  the  party  have  learned  in  the 
ten  days  that  we  have  spent  here.  These  in- 
vestigations were,  of  course,  conducted  by  the 
aid  of  such  willing  interpreters  as  Lydia  and 
myself. 

"M.  La  Tour  could  tell  you  all  about  these 
things,"  said  Lydia. 

1  'And  pray  who  is  this  M.  La  Tour  that  you 
are  all  quoting?  Some  Johnny  Crapaud  whom 
Zelphine  has  picked  up,  I  suppose.  She  always 
had  a  fancy  for  foreigners." 

"He  is  a  very  delightful  person,  and  if  you 
wait  long  enough  you  will  see  him,"  said  Miss 
Cassandra,  "as  he  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
Walter." 

"To  Walter!"  exclaimed  Archie,  and  seeing 
the  amused  twinkle  in  Miss  Cassandra's  eyes  he 
suddenly  became  quite  silent  and  took  no  further 
interest  in  the  scenery  or  in  the  products  of 
Touraine,  until  Lydia  directed  his  attention 
to  the  curious  caves  in  the  low  hills  that  look 
like  chalk  cliffs.  This  white,  chalky  soil,  M.  La 
Tour  had  explained  to  us,  is  hard,  much  like  the 
tufa  used  so  much  for  building  in  Italy.  We 
212 


COMPENSATIONS 


thought  that  these  caves  were  only  used  for 
storing  wine,  but  our  chauffeur  told  us  that 
most  of  those  which  are  provided  with  a  door 
and  a  window  are  used  as  dwelling  houses,  and 
they  were,  he  assured  us,  quite  comfortable. 
These  underground  dwellings,  burrowed  out 
like  rabbits'  warrens,  with  earth  floors,  no  ven 
tilation  except  a  chimney  cut  in  the  tufa  roof 
to  let  the  smoke  out,  and  only  the  one  window 
and  door  in  the  front  to  admit  light  and  air, 
seem  utterly  cheerless  and  uncomfortable, 
despite  our  chauffeur's  assurances  that  they 
have  many  advantages.  From  the  eloquence 
with  which  he  expatiated  upon  the  even  tem- 
perature of  these  caves,  which  he  told  us  were 
warm  in  winter  and  cool  in  summer,  we  con- 
clude that  he  has  lived  in  one  of  them,  and  are 
thankful  that  he  could  not  understand  our  in- 
vidious remarks  about  them,  for  as  Archie  re- 
marks, even  a  troglodyte  may  have  some  pride 
about  his  home. 

HOTEL  DE  FRANCE,  September  10th. 

It  is  delightful  to  be  lodged  so  near  the 
beautiful  Chateau  of  Blois  that  we  can  see  the 
fagade  of  Francis  I  by  sunlight,  twilight,  and 

213 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


moonlight.  Built  upon  massive  supporting 
walls,  it  dominates  a  natural  terrace,  which 
rises  above  the  valley  of  the  Loire  and  the 
ravine  of  the  Arroux.  No  more  fitting  site 
could  be  found  for  the  chateau  than  the  quad- 
rilateral formed  by  these  two  streams.  The 
wing  of  Francis  I,  with  its  noble  columns, 
Italian  loggie,  balustrades,  attics,  picturesque 
chimneys,  grotesque  gargoyles  and  other  rich 
and  varied  decorations,  displays  all  the  archi- 
tectural luxury  of  the  Eenaissance  of  which  it 
was  in  a  sense  the  final  expression.  It  was 
while  gazing  upon  this  marvelous  fa§ade  that 
Mr.  Henry  James  longed  for  such  brilliant 
pictures  as  the  figures  of  Francis  I,  Diane  de 
Poitiers,  or  even  of  Henry  III,  to  fill  the  empty 
frames  made  by  the  deep  recesses  of  the  beau- 
tifully proportioned  windows.  We  would 
cheerfully  omit  the  weak  and  effeminate  Henry 
from  the  novelist's  group,  but  we  would  be 
tempted  to  add  thereto  such  interesting  con- 
temporary figures  as  the  King  of  Navarre  and 
his  heroic  mother,  Jeanne  d'Albret,  or  his  beau- 
tiful, faithless  wife,  La  Heine  Margot,  the 
Pasithee  of  Ronsard's  verse,  who,  with  her 
brilliant  eyes  and  flashing  wit,  is  said  to  have 

214 


ENTRANCE  TO  CHATEAU  or  BLOIS  WITH  STATUE  OF  Louis  XII 


COMPENSATIONS 


surpassed  in  charm  all  the  members  of  her 
mother's  famous  " escadron  volant."  And,  as 
Miss  Cassandra  suggests,  it  would  be  amusing 
to  see  the  portly  widow  of  Henry  IV  descend- 
ing from  one  of  the  windows,  as  she  is  said  to 
have  done,  by  a  rope  ladder  and  all  the  para- 
phernalia of  a  romantic  elopement,  although, 
as  it  happened,  she  was  only  escaping  from  a 
prison  that  her  son  had  thought  quite  secure. 
The  poor  Queen  had  great  difficulty  in  getting 
through  the  window,  but  finally  succeeded  and 
reached  the  ditch  of  the  castle;  friends  were 
waiting  near  by  to  receive  her  with  a  coach 
which  bore  her  away  to  freedom  at  Loches  or 
Amboise,  I  forget  which.  This  window  from 
which  Marie  de  Medicis  is  said  to  have  escaped 
is  in  one  of  the  apartments  of  Catherine.  The 
guide,  a  very  talkative  little  woman,  told  us 
that  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the 
stout  Queen  never  performed  this  feat  of  high 
and  lofty  tumbling;  but  that  she  made  her 
escape  from  a  window  in  the  south  side,  and 
with  comparative  ease,  as  in  her  day  there  were 
no  high  parapets  such  as  those  that  now  sur- 
round the  chateau  on  three  sides.  Our  cicerone 
seemed,  however,  to  have  no  doubts  about  the 

215 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


unpleasing  associations  with  Catherine  de 
Medicis,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  showing 
us  her  cabinet  de  travail,  with  the  small  secret 
closets  in  the  carved  panels  of  the  wall  in  which 
she  is  said  to  have  kept  her  poisons.  These 
rooms  are  richly  decorated,  the  gilt  insignia 
upon  a  ground  of  brown  and  green  being  a 
part  of  the  original  frescoes.  The  oratory,  of 
which  Catherine  certainly  stood  in  need,  is 
especially  handsome  and  elaborate. 

Even  more  thrilling  than  the  poison  closets 
are  the  secret  staircase  and  the  oubliette  near 
by,  into  which  last  were  thrown,  as  our  guide 
naively  explained,  "tous  ceux  qui  la  genait." 
Cardinal  Lorraine  is  said  to  have  gone  by  this 
grewsome,  subterranean  passage.  Not  having 
had  enough  of  horrors  in  the  rooms  of  the 
dreadful  Catherine,  we  were  ushered,  by  our 
voluble  guide,  into  those  of  her  son,  Henry  III. 
In  order  to  make  the  terrible  story  of  the  mur- 
der of  the  Duke  of  Guise  quite  realistic,  we 
were  first  taken  to  the  great  council  chamber, 
before  one  of  whose  beautiful  chimney  places 
Le  Balfre  stood  warming  himself,  for  the  night 
was  cold,  eating  plums  and  jesting  with  his 
courtiers,  when  he  was  summoned  to  attend  the 

216 


COMPENSATIONS 


King.  Henry,  with  his  cut-throats  at  hand,  was 
awaiting  his  cousin  in  his  cabinet  de  travail, 
at  the  end  of  his  apartments.  As  the  Duke 
entered  the  King's  chamber  he  was  struck  down 
by  one  and  then  by  another  of  the  concealed 
assassins.  Henry,  miserable  creature  that  he 
was,  came  but  into  his  bedroom  where  the 
Duke  lay,  and  spurning  with  his  foot  the  dead 
or  dying  man,  exclaimed  over  his  great  size,  as 
if  he  had  been  some  huge  animal  lying  prone 
before  him. 

"It  seems  as  if  the  victims  of  Amboise  were 
in  a  measure  avenged;  the  Dukes  of  Guise, 
father  and  son,  met  with  the  same  sad  fate,  and 
at  the  time  of  the  assassination  of  Le  Balfre 
Queen  Catherine  lay  dying  in  the  room  below." 
This  from  Lydia,  in  a  voice  so  impressive  and 
tragic  that  Archie  turned  suddenly,  and  looking 
first  at  her  and  then  at  me,  said:  "Well,  you 
women  are  quite  beyond  me!  You  are  both 
overflowing  with  the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
you  would  walk  a  mile  any  day  of  the  year  to 
help  some  poor  creature  out  of  a  hole,  and  yet 
you  stand  here  and  gloat  over  a  murder  as 
horrible  as  that  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.5' 

"We  are  not  gloating  over  it,"  said  Lydia, 

217 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


"and  if  you  had  been  at  Amboise  and  had  seen, 
as  we  did,  the  place  where  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  the  Cardinal,  his  brother,  had  hundreds  of 
Huguenots  deliberately  murdered,  you  would 
have  small  pity  for  any  of  his  name,  except  for 
the  Duchess  of  Guise,  who  protested  against  the 
slaughter  of  the  Huguenots  and  said  that  mis- 
fortune would  surely  follow  those  who  had 
planned  it,  which  prediction  you  see  was  ful- 
filled by  the  assassination  of  her  husband  and 
her  son." 

"That  may  be  all  quite  true,  as  you  say, 
dear  Miss  Mott;  but  I  didn't  come  here  to  be 
feasted  on  horrors.  I  can  get  quite  enough 
of  them  in  the  newspapers  at  home,  and  it  isn't 
good  for  yxm  and  Zelphine  either.  You  both 
look  quite  pale;  let  us  leave  these  rooms  that 
reek  with  blood  and  crime  and  find  something 
more  cheerful  to  occupy  us." 

The  first  more  cheerful  object  which  we 
were  called  upon  to  admire  was  the  handsome 
salle  d'howieur,  with  its  rich  wall  decorations 
copied  after  old  tapestries ;  but  just  a  trifle  too 
bright  in  color  to  harmonize  with  the  rest  of 
the  old  castle.  In  this  room  is  an  elaborately 
decorated  mantel,  called  la  cheminee  aux  anges, 

218 


COMPENSATIONS 


which  bears  the  initials  L  and  A  on  each  side 
of  the  pore-epic,  bristling  emblem  of  the  twelfth 
Louis,  who  was  himself  less  bristling  and  more 
humane  than  most  of  his  royal  brothers.  Above 
the  mantel  shelf  two  lovely  angels  bear  aloft 
the  crown  of  France,  which  surmounts  the 
shield  emblazoned  with  the  fleur-de-lis  of  Louis 
and  the  ermine  tails  of  Anne,  the  whole  mantel 
commemorative  of  that  most  important  alliance 
between  France  and  Bretagne,  of  which  we 
have  heard  so  much.  The  guide  repeated  the 
story  of  the  marriage,  Lydia  translating  her 
rapid  French  for  Archie's  benefit. 

Observing  our  apparent  interest  in  Queen 
Anne,  our  guide  led  us  out  into  the  grounds 
and  showed  us  her  pavilion  and  the  little  terrace 
calledLa  Perche  aux  Bretons, where  the  Queen's 
Breton  guards  stood  while  she  was  at  mass. 
She  is  said  to  have  always  noticed  them  on  her 
return  from  the  chapel,  when  she  was  wont  to 
say,  "See  my  Bretons,  there  on  the  terrace,  who 
are  waiting  for  me."  Always  more  Breton  at 
heart  than  French,  Anne  loved  everything  con- 
nected with  her  native  land.  This  trait  the 
guide,  being  a  French  woman,  evidently  re- 
sented and  said  she  had  little  love  for  Anne. 

219 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


When  we  translated  her  remarks  to  Miss  Cas- 
sandra she  stoutly  defended  the  Queen,  saying 
that  it  was  natural  to  love  your  own  country 
best,  adding  that  for  her  part  she  was  "glad 
that  Anne  had  a  will  of  her  own,  so  few  women 
had  in  those  days;  and  notwithstanding  the 
meek  expression  of  her  little  dough  face  in  her 
portraits,  she  seemed  to  have  been  a  match 
for  lovers  and  husbands,  and  this  at  a  time 
when  lovers  were  quite  as  difficult  to  deal  with 
as  husbands." 

Walter,  who  says  that  he  has  heard  more 
than  enough  of  Anne  and  her  virtues,  insists 
that  she  set  a  very  bad  example  to  French  wives 
of  that  time,  as  she  gave  no  end  of  trouble  to 
her  husband,  the  good  King  Louis. 

"Good  King  Louis,  indeed!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Cassandra.  "He  may  have  remitted  the 
taxes,  as  Mr.  La  Tour  says ;  but  he  did  a  very 
wicked  thing  when  he  imprisoned  the  Duke  of 
Milan  at  Loches.  He  and  Anne  were  both 
spending  Christmas  there  at  the  time,  and  we 
are  not  even  told  that  the  King  sent  his  royal 
prisoner  a  plum  pudding  for  his  Christmas 
dinner. ' ' 

"It  would  probably  have  killed  him  if  he 
220 


COMPENSATIONS 


had,"  said  Archie;  "plum  pudding  without 
exercise  is  a  rather  dangerous  experiment. 
Don't  you  think  so  yourself,  Miss  Cassandra?" 

"He  might  have  liked  the  attention,  any- 
how," persisted  the  valiant  lady,  "but  Louis 
seems  to  have  had  an  inveterate  dislike  for  the 
Duke  of  Milan,  and  Mr.  La  Tour  says  that  one 
of  his  small  revenges  was  to  call  the  unfortu- 
nate Duke  'Monsieur  Ludovico,'  which  was 
certainly  not  a  handsome  way  to  treat  a  royal 
prisoner. ' ' 

"No,  certainly  not,"  Walter  admitted,  add- 
ing, "but  from  what  we  have  seen  of  the 
prisons  of  France,  handsome  treatment  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  a  marked  feature  of 
prison  life  at  that  time ;  and  Anne  herself  was 
not  particularly  gentle  in  her  dealings  with  her 
captives." 

Probably  with  a  view  to  putting  an  end 
to  this  discussion,  which  was  unprofitable  to 
her,  as  she  could  not  understand  a  word  of  it, 
the  guide  led  us  back  to  the  chateau  and  showed 
us  the  room  in  which  Queen  Anne  died.  What- 
ever may  have  been  her  faults  and  irregu- 
larities of  temper,  Anne  seems  to  have  had  a 
strong  sense  of  duty  and  was  the  first  Queen 

221 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


of  France  who  invited  to  her  court  a  group 
of  young  girls  of  noble  family,  whom  she  edu- 
cated and  treated  like  her  own  daughters.  She 
even  arranged  the  marriages  of  these  girls  en- 
tirely to  suit  herself,  of  course,  and  without  the 
slightest  regard  to  their  individual  preferences, 
which  was  more  than  she  was  able  to  do  in 
the  case  of  the  young  princesses,  her  children. 
She  lived  and  died  adored  by  her  husband,  who 
gave  her  a  funeral  of  unprecedented  magnifi- 
cence, and  although  Lo.uis  soon  married  again, 
for  reasons  of  state,  he  never  ceased  to  mourn 
his  Bretonne  whom  he  had  loved,  honored,  and 
in  many  instances  obeyed. 

Anne's  insignia  of  the  twisted  rope  and  the 
ermine  tails  are  to  be  found  in  nearly  every 
room  in  the  chateau,  and  here  also  is  the  emblem 
of  her  daughter,  a  cygnet  pierced  by  an  arrow, 
which  seems  symbolic  of  the  life  of  the  gentle 
Claude  of  France,  whose  heart  must  often  have 
been  wounded  by  the  slings  and  arrows  of 
outrageous  fortune,  as  she  was  made  to  feel 
keenly,  from  her  wedding  day,  that  the  King, 
her  husband,  had  no  love  for  her. 

Matrimonial  infelicities  are  so  thickly  dotted 
over  the  pages  of  French  history  that  it  is 


COMPENSATIONS 


impossible  to  pause  in  our  excursions  through 
these  palaces  to  weep  over  the  sorrows  of  noble 
ladies.  Indeed,  for  a  French  king  to  have  had 
any  affection  for  his  lawful  wife  seems  to  have 
been  so  exceptional  that  it  was  much  more  com- 
mented upon  than  the  unhappiness  of  royal 
marriages.  These  reflections  are  Miss  Cas- 
sandra's, not  mine;  and  she  added,  "I  am  sorry, 
though,  that  Anne's  daughter  was  not  happy 
in  her  marriage,"  in  very  much  the  same  tone 
that  she  would  have  commented  upon  the  mar- 
riage of  a  neighbor's  daughter.  "I  hope  the 
beautiful  garden  that  we  have  been  hearing 
about  was  a  comfort  to  her,  and  there  must  be 
some  satisfaction,  after  all,  in  being  a  queen 
and  living  in  a  palace  as  handsome  as  this." 
With  this  extremely  worldly  remark  on  the  part 
of  our  Quaker  lady,  we  passed  into  the  picture 
gallery  of  the  chateau,  where  we  saw  a  number 
of  interesting  portraits,  among  them  those  of 
Louis  XIII  and  of  his  son  Louis  XIV,  in  their 
childhood,  quaint  little  figures  with  rich  gowns 
reaching  to  their  feet,  and  with  sweet,  baby 
faces  of  indescribable  charm.  Here  also  is  a 
superb  portrait  of  Gaston,  the  brother  of 
Louis  Xin,  and  a  portrait  bust  of  Madame  de 

223 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Sevigne,  whose  charming  face  seems  to  belong 
to  Blois,  although  she  has  said  little  about  this 
chateau  in  her  letters.  Here  also  are  portraits 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  Vigee  Lebrun,  as 
beautiful  as  any  of  the  court  beauties  whom 
she  painted,  and  a  charming  head  of  Mademoi- 
selle de  Blois,  the  daughter  of  Louise  de  La 
Valliere,  whom  Madame  de  Sevigne  called  "the 
good  little  princess  who  is  so  tender  and  so 
pretty  that  one  could  eat  her."  This  was  at 
the  time  of  her  marriage,  which  Louis  XIV 
arranged  with  the  Prince  de  Conti,  having 
always  some  conscience  with  regard  to  his  nu- 
merous and  somewhat  heterogeneous  progeny. 

And  in  this  far  off  gallery  of  France  our 
patriotism  was  suddenly  aroused  to  Fourth  of 
July  temperature  by  seeing  a  portrait  of  Wash- 
ington. This  portrait,  by  Peale  or  Trumbull, 
was  doubtless  presented  to  one  of  the  French 
officers  who  were  with  Washington  in  many  of 
his  campaigns,  and  the  strong  calm  face  seemed, 
in  a  way,  to  dominate  these  gay  and  gorgeously 
appareled  French  people,  as  in  life  he  dom- 
inated every  circle  that  he  entered. 

We  were  especially  interested  in  a  bust  of 
Ronsard  with  his  emblem  of  three  fishes,  which 

224 


COMPENSATIONS 


delighted  Walter  and  Archie,  who  now  propose 
a  fishing  trip  to  his  Chateau  of  LaPoissonniere. 
We  love  Eonsard  for  many  of  his  verses,  above 
all  for  the  lines  in  which  he  reveals  his  feeling 
for  the  beauties  of  nature,  which  was  rare  in 
those  artficial  days.  Do  you  remember  what 
he  said  about  having  a  tree  planted  over  his 
grave? 

"  Give  me  no  marble  cold 
When  I  am  dead, 
But  o'er  my  lowly  bed 
May  a  tree  its  green  leaves  unfold." 


15 


XI 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


HOTEL  DE  FRANCE,  Saturday   afternoon. 

WALTER  and  Archie  have  elected  to  spend  a 
part  of  this  afternoon  in  the  Daniel  Dupuis 
Museum,  over  whose  treasures,  in  the  form  of 
engraved  medals,  they  are  quite  enthusiastic. 
We  women  folk,  left  to  our  own  devices,  wan- 
dered at  will  through  the  first  floor  rooms  and 
halls  of  the  Chateau  of  Blois.  The  great  Salle 
des  Etats,  with  its  blue  ceiling  dotted  over  with 
fleur-de-lis,  is  said  to  be  the  most  ancient  of 
them  all.  Beautiful  as  many  of  the  rooms  are, 
despite  their  somewhat  too  pronounced  and 
vividly  colored  decorations,  and  interesting  as 
we  found  the  remains  of  the  Tour  de  Foix  upon 
which  tradition  placed  the  observatory  dedi- 
cated by  Catherine  and  her  pet  demon,  Euggieri, 
to  Uranus,  the  crowning  glory  of  the  Chateau 
of  Blois  is  the  great  Court  of  Honor.  We  never 
pass  through  this  impressive  portal,  sur- 
mounted by  the  gilded  equestrlian  figure  of 

226 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


Louis  XII,  without  a  feeling  of  joy  in  the 
spaciousness  and  beauty  of  this  wide  sunny 
court.  At  a  first  glance  we  were  bewildered 
by  its  varied  and  somewhat  incongruous  archi- 
tecture, the  wing  of  Louis  XII,  with  its  fine, 
open  gallery;  that  of  Charles  d 'Orleans,  with 
its  richly  decorative  sculpture;  the  Chapel  of 
St.  Calais,  and  the  modern  and  less  beautiful 
wing  of  Gaston,  the  work  of  Francis  Mansard, 
but  after  all,  and  above  all,  what  one  carries 
away  from  the  court  of  Blois  is  that  one  perfect 
jewel  of  Renaissance  skill  and  taste,  the  great 
staircase  of  Francis  I.  An  open  octagonal 
tower  is  this  staircase,  with  great  rampant  bays, 
delicately  carved  galleries  and  exquisite  sculpt- 
ured decorations.  Indeed,  no  words  can  fully 
describe  the  richness  and  dignity  of  this  unique 
structure,  for  which  Francis  I  has  the  credit, 
although  much  of  its  beauty  is  said  to  have 
been  inspired  by  Queen  Claude. 

We  all  agreed  that  this  staircase  alone  would 
be  worth  while  coming  to  Blois  to  see,  with 
its  balustrades  and  lovely  pilasters  surmounted 
by  Jean  Goujon's  adorable  figures  represent- 
ing Faith,  Hope,  Abundance,  and  other  bless- 
ings of  heaven  and  earth.  The  charming  faces 
227 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


of  these  statues  are  said  to  have  been  modeled 
after  Diane  de  Poitiers  and  other  famous 
beauties  of  the  time.  While  wandering  through 
the  court,  we  came  suddenly  upon  traces  of 
Charles  of  Orleans,  who  was  taken  prisoner  at 
the  battle  of  Agincourt,  and  was  a  captive  for 
twenty-five  years  in  English  prisons.  A  gallery 
running  at  right  angles  to  the  wing  of  Louis 
XII  is  named  after  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  prob- 
ably by  his  son  Louis.  This  gallery,  much 
simpler  than  the  buildings  surrounding  it,  is 
also  rich  in  sculpture  and  still  richer  in  asso- 
ciations with  the  poet-prince,  who  is  said  to 
have  solaced  the  weary  hours  of  his  imprison- 
ment by  writing  verses,  chansons,  rondeaux, 
and  ballades,  some  of  which  were  doubtless 
composed  in  this  gallery  after  his  return  from 
exile.  The  lines  of  that  exquisite  poem,  "The 
fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes,"  occurred  to 
Lydia's  mind  and  mine  at  the  same  moment. 
We  were  standing  near  the  ruins  of  an  old 
fountain,  looking  up  at  the  gallery  of  Charles 
of  Orleans  and  repeating  the  verses  in  con- 
cert like  two  school  girls,  when  Miss  Cassandra, 
who  had  been  lingering  by  the  staircase,  joined 
us,  evidently  not  without  some  anxiety  lest  we 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


had  suddenly  taken  leave  of  our  senses.  Find- 
ing that  we  were  only  reciting  poetry,  she  ex- 
pressed great  satisfaction  that  we  did  not  have 
it  in  the  original,  as  she  is  so  tired  of  trying 
to  guess  at  what  people  are  talking  about. 

Indeed,  Henry  Gary's  translation  is  so  beau- 
tiful that  we  scarcely  miss  the  charm  of  the  old 
French.  We  wondered,  as  we  lingered  over  the 
lines,  which  one  of  the  several  wives  of  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  was  "the  fairest  thing  in  mortal 
eyes," — his  first  wife,  Isabelle  of  France,  or 
Bonne  d'Armagnac,  his  second  spouse!  His 
third  wife,  Marie  de  Cleves,  probably  survived 
him,  and  so  it  could  not  have  been  for  her  that 
there  was  spread  a  tomb 

"  Of  gold  and  sapphires  blue : 
The  gold  doth  show  her  blessedness, 
The  sapphires  mark  her  true; 
For  blessedness  and  truth  in  her 
Were  livelily  portrayed, 
When  gracious   God  with  both  his  hands 
Her   goodly   substance   made. 
He  framed  her  in  such  wondrous  wise, 
She  was,  to  speak  without  disguise, 
The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes." 

It  was  pleasant  to  think  of  the  poet-prince 
spending  the  last  days  of  his  life  in  this  beau- 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


tiful  chateau  with  his  wife,  Marie  de  Cleves, 
and  to  know  that  he  had  the  pleasure  of  holding 
in  his  arms  his  little  son  and  heir,  Louis  of 
Orleans,  afterwards  the  good  King  Louis,  our 
old  friend,  and  the  bone  of  Walter's  contention 
with  Miss  Cassandra. 

By  the  way,  I  do  not  at  all  agree  with  that 
usually  wise  and  just  lady  in  her  estimate  of 
Louis  XII.  As  M.  La  Tour  says,  he  was  far  in 
advance  of  his  age  in  his  breadth  of  mind  and 
his  sense  of  the  duty  owed  by  a  king  to  his 
people.  Perhaps  something  of  his  father's  poet 
vision  entered  into  the  more  practical  nature  of 
Louis,  and  in  nothing  did  he  show  more  plainly 
the  generosity  and  breadth  of  his  character 
than  in  his  forgiveness  of  those  who  had 
slighted  and  injured  him, — when  he  said,  upon 
ascending  the  throne,  "The  King  of  France 
does  not  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,"  Louis  placed  himself  many  centuries 
in  advance  of  the  revengeful  and  rapacious  age 
in  which  he  lived. 

Another  poet  whose  name  is  associated  with 
Blois  is  Francois  Villon.  A  loafer  and  a  vaga- 
bond he  was,  and  a  thief  he  may  have  been, 
yet  by  reason  of  his  genius  and  for  the  beauty 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


of  his  song  this  troubadour  was  welcomed  to 
the  literary  court  of  Charles  d 'Orleans.  That 
Villon  received  substantial  assistance  and  pro- 
tection from  his  royal  brother  poet  appears 
from  his  poems.  Among  them  we  find  one  upon 
the  birth  of  the  Duke's  daughter  Mary:  Le  Dit 
de  la  Naissance  Marie,  which,  like  his  patron's 
verses,  is  part  in  French  and  part  in  Latin. 

In  this  chateau,  which  is  so  filled  with  history 
and  romance,  our  thoughts  turned  from  the 
times  of  Charles  of  Orleans  to  a  later  period 
when  Catherine  sought  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of 
Jeanne  d' Alb  ret  by  a  series  of  fetes  and 
pageants  at  Blois  that  would  have  been  quite 
impossible  in  her  simpler  court  of  Navarre. 
The  Huguenot  Queen,  as  it  happened,  was  not 
at  all  bedazzled  by  the  splendors  of  the  French 
court,  but  with  the  keen  vision  that  belonged 
to  her  saw,  through  the  powder,  paint,  tinsel, 
and  false  flattery,  the  depravity  and  corruption 
of  the  life  that  surrounded  her.  To  her  son  she 
wrote  that  his  fiancee  was  beautiful,  witty,  and 
graceful,  with  a  fine  figure  which  was  much  too 
tightly  laced  and  a  good  complexion  which 
was  in  danger  of  being  ruined  by  the  paint  and 
powder  spread  over  it.  With  regard  to  the 

231 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


marriage  contract  which  she  had  come  to  sign, 
the  Queen  said  that  she  was  shamefully  used 
and  that  her  patience  was  taxed  beyond  that  of 
Griselda.  After  many  delays  the  marriage  con- 
tract was  finally  signed,  and  a  few  days  later 
the  good  Queen  of  Navarre  was  dead,  whether 
from  natural  causes  or  from  some  of  the 
products  of  Queen  Catherine's  secret  cupboards 
the  world  will  never  know,  as  Ruggieri  and  Le 
Maitre  were  both  at  hand  to  do  the  will  of  their 
royal  mistress  with  consummate  skill,  and  to 
cover  over  their  tracks  with  equal  adroitness. 

It  was  to  a  still  later  and  less  tragic  period 
in  the  history  of  the  chateau  that  our  thoughts 
turned  most  persistently,  when  Gaston,  Duke  of 
Orleans  and  his  wife,  Marguerite  of  Lorraine, 
held  their  court  here  and  a  bevy  of  young 
girls  brought  charm  and  grace  to  these  great 
bare  rooms.  Gaston 's  eldest  daughter,  the 
Grande  Mademoiselle,  was  often  here  in  those 
days,  acting  in  amateur  theatricals  with  her 
stepsisters,  one  of  whom,  the  little  Princess 
Marguerite  d 'Orleans,  cherished  vain  hopes  of 
becoming  Queen  of  France  by  marrying  her 
own  cousin,  Louis  XIV. 

There  is  an  amusing  passage  in  the  diary 

232 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


of  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier,  in  which  she 
describes  the  visit  of  the  King  at  Blois.  "My 
sister,"  she  said,  ''came  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  to  receive  his  Majesty,"  this  was  of 
course  the  beautiful  stairway  of  Francis  I, 
which  bears  the  lovely  sculptured  figures  of 
Diane  de  Poitiers  and  other  beauties  of  the 
time;  but  alas,  the  little  Princess  Marguerite 
had  been  stung  by  certain  flies  called  gnats 
which  quite  spoiled  her  beautiful  complexion, 
and,  adds  the  frank  sister,  "made  her  look  quite 
an  object."  This  circumstance  added  greatly 
to  Marguerite's  chagrin  when  she  learned  that 
Louis  was  on  his  way  to  wed  the  Spanish  In- 
fanta, she  herself  having  been  flattered  with  the 
hope  of  marrying  her  cousin,  having  been  fre- 
quently addressed  as  the  "little  queen."  Louis, 
never  insensible  to  his  own  charms,  confided  to 
Mademoiselle  on  his  way  to  Blois  that  he  had 
not  changed  his  coat  or  dressed  his  love-locks,' 
in  fact  had  made  himself  "le  plus  vilain 
possible,"  in  order  to  spare  the  regrets  of  his 
cousin  Marguerite  and  her  parents  that  he  had 
slipped  through  their  fingers. 

Other  young  girls  in  the  family  group  were 
Mademoiselle   de    Saint-Remi,    whose   father, 

233 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Jacques  de  Courtarval,  Marquis  of  Saint-Bern!, 
was  first  steward  to  Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans, 
and  Mademoiselle  Montelais,  whose  name 
occurs  in  one  of  the  court  rhymes  of  the  day 
in  company  with  that  of  another  young  girl, 
whose  history  is  closely  associated  with  the 
chateau, 

"  Quiche  of  love  the  ally 
The  maids  of  honor  did  supply, 
He  has  caged  a  pretty  pair, 
Montelais  and  La  Valliere." 

This  other  girl,  who  was  destined  to  be  a 
companion  to  Mademoiselle  Montelais  at  court, 
was  Louise  de  La  Valliere,  the  stepdaughter  of 
Samt-Remi  and  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
de  la  Baume-Le  Blanc,  Sieur  de  la  Gasserie, 
who  took  the  title  of  La  Valliere  after  the  death 
of  an  elder  brother.  These  high-sounding  titles 
of  the  La  Vallieres  did  not  stand  for  much  in 
gold  or  gear  at  this  time,  although  there  are 
still  ruins  to  be  seen  in  Bourbonnais  of  a  very 
ancient  castle  of  the  La  B.aumes.  An  heroic 
record  was  theirs,  however,  as  one  of  the  name, 
Pierre  le  Blanc,  served  under  Joan  of  Arc,  and 
the  father  of  Louise  successfully  bore  the  brunt 
of  the  enemies'  attack  at  the  passage  of  Brai, 
in  1634,  and  secured  the  retreat  of  the  Spanish. 

234 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


We  had  seen  the  house  at  Tours  where 
Louise  was  born,  but  it  was  at  Amboise  that  the 
La  Vallieres  lived  during  her  childhood,  and 
here  she  may  have  seen  the  fourteen-year-old 
Louis,  who  came  with  the  Queen  Mother  and 
Mazarin  to  this  town,  which  was  so  gallantly 
held  for  him,  its  rightful  lord,  against  Gaston 
and  his  bellicose  daughter,  by  the  honest  soldier, 
Laurent  de  La  Valliere.  Whether  or  not  little 
Louise  de  La  Valliere  saw  the  young  King  at 
Amboise  during  the  war  of  the  Fronde  she  cer- 
tainly saw  him  when  he  stopped  at  Blois,  some 
years  later,  on  his  way  to  Saint- Jean  de  Luz  and 
the  Spanish  marriage.  Louis  and  his  court 
were  the  guests  of  Gaston  in  1660,  although 
they  had  been  openly  arrayed  against  each 
other  at  Amboise  in  1651.  Mademoiselle  de 
Montpensier,  in  her  frank  and  amusing  chron- 
icles, tells  us  that  the  King  evidently  found  her 
father's  chateau  a  dull  place  to  stop  in  over 
night.  The  customs  and  costumes  of  the  house- 
hold failed  to  please  the  fastidious  young 
monarch;  the  meal  was  served  in  "old- 
fashioned  style,  and  the  ladies  were  dressed 
like  the  dishes — all  out  of  fashion." 

Dumas  makes  Louis  remark  facetiously  to 
Madame  Gaston,  that  his  teacher  in  geography 

235 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


had  not  told  him  that  Blois  was  so  far  from 
Paris  that  the  fashions  could  not  reach  the 
provincial  town  for  several  years.  Only  one 
figure  in  the  group,  which  had  gathered  in  the 
vast  salle  to  do  honor  to  the  monarch,  appeared 
to  him  worthy  of  royal  regard.  This  was  a 
slight,  girlish  form,  in  white  muslin,  a  costume 
so  simple  that  it  could  never  be  quite  out  of 
date. 

Standing  this  afternoon  in  the  Salle  de 
Reception,  we  pictured  to  ourselves  the  first 
meeting  of  the  King  and  Louise  de  La  Valliere 
on  the  night  of  the  arrival  of  the  court  at 
Blois.  The  fast-fading  light  lent  a  semblance 
of  reality  to  the  scene,  as  the  torches  and 
candles  used  in  those  early  days  could  not  have 
brilliantly  lighted  the  vast  hall.  We  fancied 
the  chairs  placed  in  half  circle  for  the  accom- 
modation of  the  royal  guests,  the  King's  not  a 
half -inch  higher  than  that  of  Mazarin  or  of  the 
Queen,  Anne  of  Austria.  The  astute  Italian 
Prime  Minister  is  seated,  his  body  is  bent,  his 
face  pallid,  the  hand  of  Death  is  already  laid 
upon  him,  but  his  mind  is  as  keen  and  alert  as 
in  youth,  his  eyes  as  penetrating.  The  courtiers 
are  grouped  around  Mazarin,  the  real  king; 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


Gaston,  the  indolent  father  of  the  energetic  and 
courageous  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier,  is 
talking  to  Mazarin,  and  chronicles  of  the  day 
tell  us  that  the  Duke  was  an  admirable  racon- 
teur. The  Grande  Mademoiselle,  now  over 
thirty,  and  in  the  full  flower  of  a  beauty  which, 
according  to  Petitot's  miniature  and  her  own 
rose-colored  description,  was  not  inconsiderable, 
is  in  another  group  at  one  side  of  the  hall,  with 
her  half-sisters  and  the  other  young  girls  of 
the  house.  Called  forth  from  her  modest  station 
behind  the  princesses  of  the  House  of  Orleans 
by  the  command  of  her  hostess,  Louise  de  La 
Valliere  stepped  forward,  confused  and  blush- 
ing, to  make  her  deep  courtesy  before  the  King, 
while  the  Duchess  presented  her  in  due  form  as 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume-Le  Blanc,  daughter 
of  the  Marquis  de  La  Valliere  and  stepdaughter 
of  the  Marquis  de  Saint-Eemi. 

As  Madame  de  Motteville  described  her  at 
seventeen,  we  see  the  slight  girlish  form  of  La 
Valliere  making  her  reverence  before  royalty, 
owing  her  charm,  as  the  court  lady  relates,  more 
to  a  certain  grace,  modesty  and  tenderness  in 
bearing  and  expression  than  to  the  dazzling 
whiteness  and  rosiness  of  her  skin,  the  exquisite 
237 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


blueness  of  her  eyes  and  the  brilliancy  of  her 
blonde  hair  of  the  shade  which  the  French  call 
cheveux  argentes. 

Although  Madame  de  la  Motte's  description 
of  Louise  de  La  Valliere  is  charming  and  sym- 
pathetic, we  long  for  the  graceful  and  vivifying 
pen  of  Madame  de  Sevigne  to  picture  for  us 
the  young  girl  as  she  appeared  at  her  home  in 
Blois,  before  the  equally  baneful  breath  of  court 
favor  or  court  scandal  had  brushed  the  bloom 
from  her  innocent  loveliness. 

Dear  Madame  de  Sevigne,  with  her  graceful 
fancy,  her  joie  de  vivre,  and  her  inimitable  skill 
in  presenting  a  situation  and  making  her  char- 
acters live  before  us,  should  have  been  immortal 
as  well  as  universal.  We  wish  for  a  letter  from 
her  in  every  chateau  of  the  Loire,  most  of  all 
here  at  Blois,  of  which  she  has  written  so  little. 
When  Madame  de  Sevigne  saw  Louise  de  La 
Valliere  some  months  later  at  court,  she  likened 
her  to  a  modest  violet,  hiding  beneath  its  leaves ; 
but  not  so  completely  as  to  evade  the  eyes  of 
royalty.  And  if  Louise  was  lovely  in  her  gown 
of  virginal  white,  the  King  was  a  no  less  pleas- 
ing object  to  gaze  upon.  At  all  times  courteous 
and  graceful,  at  twenty-three  Louis  is  described 

238 


LOUISE  DE  LA  VALUERI 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


as  handsome,  well-formed,  with  deep  blue  eyes, 
and  a  profusion  of  curling  hair  which  fell  over 
his  shoulders.  Although  somewhat  under  the 
middle  height,  he  bore  himself  with  an  air  of 
majesty  and  dignity,  inherited  from  his  royal 
mother,  and  would  have  been  "every  inch  a 
King, ' '  said  Saint-Simon,  ' '  even  if  he  had  been 
born  under  the  roof  of  a  beggar."  It  was  this 
grace  and  personal  charm,  which  Louis  pos- 
sessed in  no  small  degree,  that  appealed  to  the 
girl's  imagination,  rather  than  the  grandeur 
of  his  station.  If  Louise  had  not  seen  him 
again  the  image  of  this  young  prince  from 
fairyland  might  in  time  have  faded  from  her 
mind,  especially  as  an  incipient  love  affair  with 
a  neighbor's  son  already  existed.  Some  notes 
and  occasional  shy  glances  had  been  exchanged 
between  Mademoiselle  de  La  Valliere  and  young 
Bragelongne,  who  lived  next  door  to  the  Saint- 
Kemis  at  Blois,  and  had  she  not  been  suddenly 
carried  off  to  court  this  nebulous  romance 
might  have  materialized  into  a  happy  marriage, 
and  a  career  more  honorable,  if  less  brilliant 
and  exciting,  than  that  which  lay  before  her. 

It  was  this  early  affair  with  a  neighbor's 
son  which  gave  Dumas  some  historic  founda- 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


tion  for  his  captivating  and  pathetic  story  of 
the  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  Whether  or  not 
the  young  lover  wore  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve 
to  the  end  of  his  days,  it  is  quite  evident  that 
M.  de  Bragelongne  was  speedily  forgotten  by 
Louise  amid  the  pleasures  and  distractions  of 
the  gayest  court  in  Europe.  As  maid  of  honor 
to  the  English  princess,  Henriette,  Louise  was 
plunged  into  all  the  festivities  of  Fontainebleau, 
Versailles,  and  the  Palais  Eoyal,  of  which  the 
King  was  always  the  soul  and  centre. 

You  will  think  that  my  pen  has  run  away 
with  me  in  following  the  fortunes  of  Louise  de 
La  Valliere  from  Blois  to  Paris  and  from  Paris 
to  Versailles ;  but  Lydia  and  I  have  been  read- 
ing a  book  about  Blois  which  M.  La  Tour  had 
sent  to  us  from  Paris.  This  book,  which  dwells 
particularly  upon  the  story  of  Louise  de  La 
Valliere  and  her  association  with  the  Chateau 
of  Blois,  has  brought  the  life  of  that  time  before 
us  so  vividly  that  we  feel  as  if  we  had  some 
part  and  lot  in  the  pathetic  tale.  The  festivities 
and  intrigues  of  Fontainebleau  and  Versailles 
may  seem  a  far  cry  from  the  old  Chateau  of 
Blois,  and  yet  the  court  life  of  that  older  time, 
dramatic  and  picturesque  as  it  was,  was 

240 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


curiously  limited.  The  characters  were  always 
the  same,  the  pageant  alone  shifted  from  palace 
to  chateau,  and  from  one  chateau  of  the  Loire 
to  another.  Now  the  court  is  at  Amboise,  again 
at  Chenonceaux,  and  again  at  the  stately 
palace  of  Chambord.  The  King  is  always  sur- 
rounded by  the  same  courtiers  and  the  same 
favorites,  whether  he  is  riding  through  the 
forest  of  Fontainebleau  or  hunting  at  Cham- 
bord, in  which  princely  domain  Louis  boasted 
that  he  had  shot  fourteen  of  his  Uncle  Gaston's 
cherished  pheasants  in  one  afternoon.  The 
distances  are  short,  and  even  in  the  days  of 
slow-going  coaches  the  court  could  breakfast 
at  Chambord  and  sup  at  Blois. 

Through  the  influence  of  a  distant  relative 
Louise  de  La  Valliere  was  given  a  place  at  court 
in  the  service  of  the  English  princess,  the  beau- 
tiful, captivating  and  capricious  Henriette, 
daughter  of  Charles  I  and  wife  of  the  King's 
young  brother,  Philippe  d 'Orleans.  Chroniclers 
of  the  time  all  agree  in  attributing  to  her  rare 
charm  of  manner,  a  lively  wit  and  a  keen  in- 
tellect. A  patron  of  the  great  writers  of  the 
day,  she  encouraged  Corneille  and  the  older 
poets  and  emboldened  the  younger  by  her  ap- 

16  241 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


preciation.  Henriette  wept  over  the  Andro- 
maque  when  Kacine  read  it  to  her,  until  the 
happy  youth's  head  was  weii-mgh  turned  by 
what  he  considered  the  most  fortunate  begin- 
ning of  its  destiny.  This  combination  of  beauty, 
charm,  and  intellect,  found  more  frequently, 
perhaps,  in  France  than  in  any  other  country, 
rendered  Madame  the  most  irresistible  of 
women,  and  as  Saint-Beuve  says,  the  most 
touching  of  princesses.  The  King,  who  at  six- 
teen had  refused  to  dance  with  the  thin  and  not 
especially  attractive  child  of  eleven,  because,  as 
he  explained  to  his  mamma,  he  did  not  care  for 
little  girls,  took  himself  to  task  later  for  not 
realizing  before  she  became  his  brother's 
fiancee  that  Henriette  was  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world. 

At  the  time  that  Louise  de  La  Valliere  en- 
tered her  household  Madame  Henriette  was 
enjoying  her  hour  of  triumph.  The  King,  who 
had  been  slow  in  discovering  her  charms,  was 
at  her  feet.  The  death  of  Mazarin,  the  miserly, 
had  given  Louis  a  freedom  in  his  own  kingdom 
that  he  had  never  before  known.  Entertainment 
followed  entertainment,  all  given  in  honor  of 
the  English  bride,  his  own  Spanish  bride  having 

242 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


been  relegated  to  the  background  of  this  gay 
court,  from  which  she  was  never  destined  to 
emerge.  "It  seemed,"  wrote  Madame  de 
Lafayette,  "as  if  the  King  had  no  interest  in 
these  fetes  except  through  the  gratifications 
they  gave  to  Madame."  It  was  in  the  summer 
time,  and  the  royalties  were  at  Fontainebleau, 
which  delightful  palace  of  pleasure,  with  its 
extensive  grounds,  made  a  charming  back- 
ground for  the  succession  of  fetes  and  dances 
that  Louis  planned  for  his  sister-in-law.  There 
were  expeditions  on  land  by  day,  water  parties 
on  the  lake  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  prom- 
enades in  the  woods  by  night.  Madame  de- 
lighted to  bathe  in  the  Seine;  accordingly 
parties  were  arranged  for  her  pleasure,  the 
ladies  driving  to  the  river  and  returning  on 
horseback,  in  elaborate  costumes  with  wonder- 
ful plumes  in  their  hats,  to  an  al  fresco  break- 
fast in  the  park. 

A  theatre  was  erected  in  the  grounds  and 
Lulli  was  installed  as  superintendent  of  the 
royal  music.  Among  other  entertainments  a 
Ballet  des  Saisons  was  given,  in  which  the  King, 
in  a  gorgeous  costume  representing  Spring, 
danced  with  his  usual  grace  and  skill,  while 

243 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Madame,  in  a  gown  of  shining  tissue,  delicate  as 
a  butterfly's  wing,  led  her  troupe  of  Bacchantes, 
Louise  de  La  Valliere  among  them. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  entertainments, 
which  were  sometimes  followed  by  rambles  in 
the  park  lasting  until  two  or  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  that  the  scene  under  the  Koyal 
Oak  took  place  which  Dumas  has  so  ingeniously 
woven  into  his  romance  of  La  Valliere.  You 
remember  that  the  three  maids  of  honor  of 
Madame, — Montelais,  Athenais,  and  Louise, — 
were  grouped  together  under  the  famous  oak 
in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  which  had  wit- 
nessed the  sighs  for  love  or  glory  of  the  great 
Henry  and  many  another  monarch.  The  con- 
versation of  the  three  girls  on  life  and  love 
sounds  trite  and  commonplace  as  we  read  the 
story,  and  yet  in  the  light  of  the  events  that 
followed  in  quick  succession  the  sentimental 
platitudes  of  the  innocent  child,  La  Valliere, 
and  the  worldly  aphorisms  of  the  ambitious 
Athenais,  afterwards  Madame  de  Montespan, 
gain  both  dignity  and  pathos.  That  Louise,  the 
timid  and  gentle,  should  express  herself  so 
warmly  upon  her  admiration  for  the  King 
reveals  the  fact  that  the  handsome  young 

244 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


sovereign  had  already  made  an  impression  upon 
her  sensitive  heart.  For  her  it  seemed  that 
there  had  been  no  one  worthy  of  notice  at  the 
dance  except  the  King,  the  living  embodiment 
of  the  springtime  he  personified.  When  she 
exclaimed  with  fervor,  "Have  you  ever  seen 
any  one  to  be  compared  with  the  King!"  even 
the  bold  Athenais  was  surprised  at  the  frank- 
ness of  the  little  Blesoise.  A  still  greater  sur- 
prise was  in  store  for  the  Three  Graces  under 
the  Eoyal  Oak  when  a  rustling  was  heard  in 
the  undergrowth  of  the  adjoining  quincunx,  and 
with  cries  of  "A  wolf!  or  a  wild  boar!"  they 
all  scampered  away  as  fast  as  their  feet  could 
carry  them  to  the  safe  and  sure  shelter  of 
Madame 's  apartments,  to  learn  later  to  their 
dismay  that  the  rustling  in  the  bushes  had  been 
caused,  not  by  a  wolf  or  a  wild  boar,  but  by 
the  King  himself,  who  was  sauntering  through 
the  park  with  M.  de  Saint- Aignan. 

Whether  or  not  Louise  ever  thus  openly 
expressed  her  admiration  for  the  King,  one  may 
readily  believe  that  even  a  slight  impression 
made  upon  the  girl's  imagination  would  be 
inevitably  deepened  and  strengthened  in  these 
days  when  the  court  life  at  Fontainebleau  is 
Ml 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


described  as  a  delirium  of  ambition,  pleasure 
and  love.  The  merry-making  and  feasting  con- 
tinued, the  fetes  still  being  given  in  Madame 's 
honor,  and  "the  modest  violet"  might  have 
remained  hidden  beneath  its  leaves  had  not 
Madame  Henriette's  schemes  involved  Louise. 
It  appears  that  the  Queen  Mother,  having  in 
common  with  others  observed  the  King's  grow- 
ing admiration  for  his  beautiful  sister-in-law, 
expostulated  with  him,  entreating  him,  in  the 
name  of  dignity  and  decorum,  to  discontinue  his 
attentions  to  her.  The  King,  angry  and  dis- 
concerted that  his  actions  should  be  criticised, 
formed  with  the  aid  of  the  quick-witted 
Madame,  who  cared  little  for  Louis  but  greatly 
enjoyed  her  position  as  queen  of  the  hour,  a 
plot  which  involved  several  of  the  maids  of 
honor.  So  infamous  was  this  plot  of  Madame 's 
that  one  wonders  that  a  woman,  to  whom  kind- 
ness of  heart  has  been  attributed,  could  have 
countenanced  a  scheme  so  cruel.  "In  order  to 
hide  their  own  game,"  said  Saint-Beuve,  "the 
King  was  to  pay  make-believe  attention  to  sev- 
eral of  Madame 's  maids  of  honor."  The  three 
selected  were  Mademoiselle  de  Pons,  Made- 
moiselle de  Chimerault,  and  Mademoiselle  de  La 

246 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


Valliere.  It  soon  appeared  that  the  latter  was 
the  one  whom  the  King  preferred  to  seem  to 
be  in  love  with.  The  plot  soon  thickened  quite 
beyond  Madame 's  anticipations,  the  make-be- 
lieve attentions  became  real,  the  other  maids 
of  honor  were  quite  neglected,  Madame  herself 
was  forgotten,  and  while  trying  to  dazzle  the 
eyes  of  the  public  Louis  himself  was  bewildered, 
and  soon  found  himself  seriously  in  love  with 
La  Valliere,  at  least  as  seriously  in  love  as  it 
was  in  his  nature  to  be.  And  Louise  was  then 
and  ever  after  deeply,  hopelessly  in  love  with 
the  King. 

Is  it  strange  that  this  innocent  girl,  little 
more  than  a  child  in  years  and  experience,  with 
many  to  flatter  and  criticise,  but  none  to  counsel 
or  protect,  should  have  fallen  into  the  trap  that 
was  laid  for  her  unwary  feet?  From  her  quiet 
village  home  she  was  suddenly,  as  Madame 's 
dame  d'honneur,  introduced  to  a  new  world,  in 
which  the  King,  young,  handsome,  and  pos- 
sessed of  all  the  graces  and  accomplishments 
of  his  age,  was  the  central  figure.  Before  she 
had  time  to  become  accustomed  to  the  life 
around  her,  the  greatest  temptation  that  could 
be  offered  to  a  Frenchwoman  of  that  day  was 

247 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


presented  to  her.  This  monarch,  the  Roi  Soleil 
to  his  adoring  satellites,  was  at  her  feet,  telling 
her  that  he  loved  her,  and  her  only,  little  Louise 
de  La  Valliere,  whom  the  haughty  court  dames 
had  looked  down  upon  as  insignificant,  lacking 
in  grace  and  even  beauty.  It  was  only  a  few 
short  days  since  water  parties,  ballets,  and  fetes 
had  been  given  in  Madame 's  honor;  the  gayety 
continued,  but  Henriette  was  no  longer  the 
inspiration  of  these  festivities,  which  were 
planned  for  other  beaua  yeux,  whose  she  does 
not  know.  Louise  was  so  modest  and  retiring, 
so  anxious  to  spare  the  Queen  sorrow  and  pain, 
that  it  was  some  time  before  it  transpired  that 
the  little  Blesoise,  whom  Madame  would  not 
have  condescended  to  look  upon  as  a  possible 
rival,  was  the  reigning  favorite. 

In  the  midst  of  the  scheming,  love  making, 
jealousy,  and  carousing,  the  King's  second 
child  —  the  little  Princess  Anne  Elizabeth  — 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  light  of  the  world,  only 
to  close  them  again  before  the  rejoicings  at  her 
birth  were  well  over,  even  before  the  foreign 
ambassadors  who  came  to  welcome  her  had 
reached  Paris.  The  Queen  was  deeply  grieved 
at  the  loss  of  her  child,  Louis  wept  copiously 

248 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


over  the  family  affliction,  but  being  in  greater 
need  of  distraction  than  before  we  find  him  a 
few  weeks  later  dancing  gayly  in  a  Ballet  des 
Arts  in  company  with  Mademoiselle  de  Mort- 
mart,  la  belle  Athenais,  Mademoiselle  de 
Sevigne,  whom  her  fond  mother  called  the 
''prettiest  girl  in  France,"  and  Mademoiselle 
de  La  Valliere,  who,  despite  her  slight  lame- 
ness, danced  to  perfection,  her  slim  figure,  of 
the  lissome  slenderness  that  belongs  to  early 
youth,  showing  to  great  advantage  in  the  figures 
of  the  cotillon. 

You  know  the  sad  story  far  better  than  I 
do.  The  few  short  years  of  enchantment  when 
Louise  lived  in  the  delirium  of  love's  young 
dream,  yet  was  never  really  happy,  never  en- 
joying her  honors  as  Duchesse  de  La  Valliere, 
the  royal  favorite,  because  her  conscience  was 
ever  awake  and  her  tender  heart  filled  with 
remorse  for  the  sorrow  she  had  caused  the 
Queen.  The  brief  years  of  enchantment  were 
soon  over,  to  be  followed  by  disillusionment, 
when  it  was  revealed  to  Louise  that  the  fickle 
heart  of  Louis  had  succumbed  to  other  charms ; 
the  final  flight  from  court  and  the  long  years 
of  repentance  at  the  Carmelites. 

249 


IN  CHATEAU  LANE 


Twice  before  Louise  had  taken  refuge  in  a 
Convent.  The  first  time  she  sought  to  fly  from 
her  passion  and  herself,  to  be  brought  back 
to  court  by  the  adoring  King,  the  second  flight 
was  when  Louis  had  begun  to  transfer  his  atten- 
tions to  Madame  de  Montespan,  and  finally,  at 
thirty,  Louise  de  La  Valliere  retired  to  Chaillot 
to  expiate  whatever  sins  she  had  committed  by 
thirty-six  long  years  of  prayer  and  penitence. 
Having  entered  the  Carmelites  in  the  bright 
bloom  of  her  beauty,  her  lovely  blonde  hair 
severed  from  her  graceful  head,  La  Valliere 
was  known  ever  after  as  Sister  Louise  de  la 
Misericorde,  and  as  if  anything  more  were 
needed  to  complete  the  tragedy,  the  King  whom 
she  had  loved  so  deeply,  to  whom  she  had 
sacrificed  her  life,  although  at  the  time  much 
engrossed  with  Madame  de  Montespan,  was  in- 
capable of  forgiving  Louise  for  quitting  the 
court,  and  never  made  the  slightest  effort  to 
see  her  again.  ''He  has  forgotten  her,"  wrote 
the  vivacious  and  outspoken  Madame,  mother 
of  the  Regent,  "as  much  as  if  he  had  never 
known  her." 

In  her  repentance,  which  was  evidently  deep 
and  sincere,  La  Valliere  likened  herself  to  three 

250 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


great  sinners,  the  Canaanitish  woman,  the 
woman  of  Samaria,  and  the  Magdalen,  and 
asked  only  that  her  sins  be  forgiven.  Bossuet, 
who  received  her  confession,  compared  her  to 
a  dove  taking  its  flight  heavenward,  while 
Madame  de  Sevigne,  who  visited  her  at  the 
Carmelites  about  the  time  of  the  marriage  of 
La  Valliere's  daughter  to  the  Prince  de  Conti, 
wrote  to  Madame  de  Grignan:  "But  what  an 
angel  she  appeared  to  me!  To  my  eyes  she 
possessed  all  the  charms  of  early  days,  the  same 
eyes  and  the  same  expression :  the  austere  life, 
meagre  fare  and  little  sleep  ni  les  lui  out  ni 
creuses  ni  battus.  The  severe  costume  has 
despoiled  her  of  no  grace  or  dignity;  indeed, 
this  dress  and  this  retreat  add  greatly  to  her 
dignity. ' ' 

Just  as  we  were  leaving  the  chateau  a 
pleasant  diversion  came  in  the  form  of  a  call 
from  M.  La  Tour,  who  had  motored  over  from 
his  father's  country  seat  to  dine  with  us  to- 
night. I  was  glad  to  see  him,  as  I  wished  to 
thank  him  for  a  book  which  we  found  at  the 
hotel,  when  we  reached  here  yesterday,  which 
has  added  so  much  to  our  interest  in  the 
chateau.  I  tell  M.  La  Tour  that  if  we  dream 

251 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


to-night  of  court  pageants  at  Blois,  midnight 
strolls  in  the  forest,  and  girlish  confidences 
under  the  Royal  Oak,  at  Fontainebleau,  it  will 
be  quite  his  fault  for  making  the  story  so  real 
to  us.  Then,  as  if  to  deepen  the  impression 
already  made,  he  proceeded  to  draw  us  a  picture 
of  the  cortege  attending  Louis  XIV  on  his 
arrival  at  Blois, — the  great  state  carriages  of 
wood  and  leather,  with  their  Genoa  velvet 
cushions  and  wide  wheels,  surrounded  by  out- 
riders advancing  in  perfect  order,  at  a  foot's 
pace,  the  musketeers  in  their  brilliant  uniform, 
the  horns  of  varying  sorts  exciting  the  dogs 
and  horses, — movement,  noise,  color,  a  mirage 
of  light  announced  the  King's  approach  to  the 
chateau,  of  which  nothing  can  now  convey  any 
adequate  idea  unless  it  be  the  picturesque 
splendor  and  false  majesty  of  a  theatrical 
spectacle. 

As  M.  La  Tour  described  this  brilliant  scene, 
another  arose  before  me  unbidden,  this  last  in 
the  dim  religious  light  of  the  convent,  where  a 
woman  still  young,  in  the  full  maturity  of  her 
beauty,  is  taking  the  veil,  which  is  held  for 
the  former  royal  favorite  by  the  neglected 
Queen  of  Louis,  Maria  Teresa.  Although  some 

252 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


chroniclers  tell  us  that  the  King's  eyes  were 
red  with  weeping  all  the  day  before,  he  prob- 
ably went  hunting  that  day  after  pheasants,  or 
whatever  game  was  in  season,  amid  the  flat- 
teries and  acclamations  of  his  courtiers.  So 
short  was  the  memory  of  a  King !  So  long  and 
deep  was  the  repentance  of  a  woman  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning! 

The  floral  offerings,  this  evening,  were  hand- 
somer than  usual,  having  come  from  M.  La 
Tour's  paternal  gardens.  Miss  Cassandra  and 
I  have  bouquets  of  sweet  peas  of  exquisite 
shades  of  mauve,  purple  and  white,  quite  suita- 
ble for  chaperones,  while  for  Lydia  was  reserved 
a  choice  posy  of  the  blue  forget-me-nots,  that 
the  French  adore,  surrounded  by  mignonette. 
Lydia  is  wearing  a  soft  grey  voile  gown  to- 
night, cut  low  enough  to  reveal  the  roundness 
and  whiteness  of  her  throat,  and  the  blue  flow- 
ers against  her  grey  corsage  made  a  perfect 
finish  to  the  simple,  dainty  costume,  beside 
which  they  are  exactly  the  color  of  her  eyes. 
Upon  this  fact  M.  La  Tour  is  probably  expati- 
ating this  minute,  as  they  are  talking  together 
in  the  embrasure  of  a  window  in  this  odd  little 
room  which  answers  the  purpose  of  salon  and 

253 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


writing  room,  in  which  I  scribble  off  these  lines 
to  you.  We  are  all  enjoying  the  young  French- 
man's visit,  with  one  exception  perhaps,  Archie, 
who  is  smoking  on  the  terrace  alone.  I  can  see 
his  face  from  where  I  am  sitting,  and  it  wears  a 
rather  careworn  expression, — much  as  he  used 

to  look  when  he  was  interne  at  the  P 

Hospital  and  had  a  particularly  bad  case  under 
his  care.  "Walter,  who  is  writing  at  a  table  near 
me,  is  laughing  over  my  description,  and  says 
that  this  is  a  bad  case  for  Archie  and  M.  La 
Tour,  whatever  it  may  be  for  Lydia,  who 
Quaker-like  is  so  self-contained  and  serene  of 
countenance  that  she  does  not  betray  her  feel- 
ings by  so  much  as  the  lifting  of  an  eyelash. 
She  treats  both  of  her  admirers  with  charming 
impartiality. 

"How  is  Archie  ever  going  to  find  out 
whether  Lydia  cares  for  him,  Zelphine  ? ' '  This 
from  Walter 's  writing  table,  in  a  stage  whisper. 
"Even  you,  inveterate  matchmaker  that  you 
are,  have  met  your  Waterloo  for  once.  Angela, 
with  all  her  roguish  ways,  wasn't  a  patch  to 
this  demure  Lydia.  You  certainly  are  having 
experiences,  Zelphine,  and  are  keeping  your 
hand  in  for  Christine  and  Lisa  when  they  come 

254 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


along.  I  feel  sorry  for  poor  old  Archie;  but 
we  all  have  to  have  our  troubles  in  this  line 
sooner  or  later." 

"Then  why  have  you  added  to  Archie's 
troubles  by  urging  M.  La  Tour  to  go  with  us 
to-morrow!" 

"How  could  I  help  asking  him,"  this  in 
Walter's  most  persuasive  tone,  "when  he  has 
taken  the  trouble  to  come  over  here  to  dine 
with  us?  In  common  decency  I  could  do  noth- 
ing else." 

"Of  course  nothing  will  ever  come  of  this, 
as  M.  La  Tour's  parents  have  no  doubt 
arranged  an  advantageous  marriage  for  him, 
but " 

"Do  you  want  anything  to  come  of  it, 
Zelphine?" 

"How  you  tease!  You  know  very  well  that 
I  do  not;  but  poor  Archie's  holiday  is  being 
spoiled,  all  the  same." 

"Well,  he  can't  go  with  us  anyhow,  Zelphine 
dear,  for  to-morrow  is  his  mother's  birthday, 
and  he  will  have  to  leave  here  betimes,  in  order 
to  be  at  home  to  lunch  with  Madame  La  Tour. 
I  must  go  out  on  the  terrace  now  and  comfort 
Archie." 

255 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


"Don't  be  too  comforting,  Walter,  and  why 
didn't  you  tell  me  before  that  M.  La  Tour  could 
not  go  with  us  to-morrow?" 

"I  did  not  quite  realize  how  important  his 
movements  were,  and  after  all  he  holds  out 
a  hope  of  rejoining  us  at  Chinon,  on  Monday." 

This  conversation  with  my  good  man,  dear 
Margaret,  will  give  you  a  fairly  satisfactory 
idea  of  a  very  unsatisfactory  state  of  affairs 
except  that  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  Chinon. 
Walter  looked  so  mischievous,  when  he  added 
that  bit  of  information,  that  I  am  inclined  to 
think  he  made  it  up,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
just  to  give  me  something  to  think  about. 

By  the  way,  I  am  leaving  the  most  impor- 
tant item  for  the  end  of  this  long  letter.  M.  La 
Tour  brought  a  charming  note  from  his  mother, 
inviting  us  to  lunch  with  her  any  day  that  suits 
us.  The  Chateau  La  Tour  is  somewhere  be- 
tween Blois  and  Paris,  not  much  out  of  our 
way ;  but  we  really  have  not  time  to  stop  over 
even  for  a  few  hours,  as  Angela  writes  from 
Paris  that  the  Dudleys  leave  her  on  Tuesday 
to  sail  from  Cherbourg.  The  child  cannot  stay 
at  a  hotel  alone,  and  she  says  that  she  is  so 
busy  over  her  trousseau  that  she  has  not  time 

256 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  BLOIS 


to  join  us  here  even  for  a  few  days.  So  you 
see  we  have  only  Monday  for  Chinon,  a  night 
at  Angers  and  a  full  day  on  Tuesday,  as  we 
return  to  Paris,  via  Orleans,  where  we  wish  to 
have  several  hours  en  route  for  the  Joan  of 
Arc  associations. 

It  would  be  a  delightful  experience  to  lunch 
at  the  Chateau  La  Tour,  but  under  the  circum- 
stances, a  trifle  embarrassing.  Archie  would 
flatly  refuse  to  go,  I  am  sure,  and  Walter 
would  think  it  a  perfect  bore,  so  it  is  just  as  well 
that  we  have  a  good,  ready-made  excuse.  I 
don't  know  what  Miss  Cassandra  thinks  about 
the  situation  of  affairs,  as  for  once  in  her  life 
she  is  as  discreet  and  non-committal  as  Lydia; 
but  she  is  evidently  much  disappointed  about 
the  luncheon  at  the  Chateau  La  Tour.  She  is 
always  ready  for  a  new  experience,  and  is 
eager  to  meet  Madame  La  Tour,  who  claims 
cousinship  with  her.  However,  this  last 
pleasure  may  be  only  deferred,  as  Madame 
hopes  to  call  upon  us  in  Paris  later  in  the 
month. 


17 


XII 

THREE  CHATEAUX 


HOTEL  DE  FRANCE,  BLOIS,  September  llth. 

THIS  has  been  a  golden  day  of  pure  delight, 
with  a  brilliant  sunshine  from  early  morn  to 
dewy  eve,  and  a  cool,  refreshing  air,  an  alto- 
gether ideal  day  for  our  prolonged  visitations 
among  the  chateaux  around  Blois!  Lydia  and 
I  went  to  the  little  Protestant  church  with  Miss 
Cassandra  this  morning,  as  a  salve  to  our  con- 
sciences, Archie  says,  in  view  of  the  giddy 
round  of  pleasure  that  we  had  planned  for  the 
afternoon.  He  and  Walter  tried  to  beguile 
Lydia  from  our  side,  to  spend  the  morning  in 
roaming  about  Blois  with  them;  but  she  is  a 
loyal  little  soul  and  resisted  all  their  blandish- 
ments with  sweet  steadfastness,  saying  that 
after  following  the  Huguenots  through  all  the 
miseries  that  were  heaped  upon  them,  the  least 
that  we  can  do  is  to  honor  their  memories  in 
their  chapel  here  at  Blois. 

Archie  says  that  we  are  quite  right  and  that 

258 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


this  sentiment  is  praiseworthy;  but  that  as  he 
and  Walter  were  unable  to  honor  these  heroic 
souls  in  their  own  language,  to  attend  such  a 
service  would  be  a  mockery. 

"Yes,"  Walter  added,  "it  would  seem  like 
a  bit  of  play-acting  to  sit  there  in  church,  like 
two  whited  sepulchres,  trying  to  look  as  if  we 
understood  when  we  should  not  know  six  words 
of  what  was  being  said." 

Miss  Cassandra,  being  accustomed  to  re- 
ligious service  where  not  a  word  is  spoken  in 
any  language,  naturally  does  not  think  much 
of  these  arguments ;  but  having  a  strong  liking 
for  my  two  men  she  is  quite  willing  to  excuse 
them  from  accompanying  us  to  the  chapel.  Nor 
do  I  wonder  that  they  are  glad  to  have  a  fine 
morning  in  which  to  roam  about  this  interesting 
old  town  together,  and  to  give  zest  and  point 
to  their  rambles,  M.  La  Tour  has  told  them  of 
an  ancient  coin  associated  wit'E  the  history  of 
Blois.  This  coin  is  said  to  be  the  oldest  docu- 
ment in  existence  on,  or  in,  which  the  name  of 
Blois  is  inscribed,  it  also  bears  the  name  of 
the  officer  of  the  mint  at  Blois  at  the  time  of 
its  issue,  far  back  in  history.  Of  course  Walter 
and  Archie  are  very  anxious  to  see  this  ancient 

259 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


coin,  and  M.  La  Tour  has  given  them  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  the  man  who  has  charge  of 
it,  which  he  assured  them  would  admit  them  to 
a  view  of  it  Sundays  or  holidays,  or  any  time 
in  the  day  or  night. 

We  enjoyed  the  service  in  the  little  church, 
where  we  heard  a  really  eloquent  discourse 
from  an  old  pasteur  with  the  most  beautiful, 
benevolent  face  that  you  can  imagine.  We  are 
quite  sure  that  this  handsome,  venerable  clergy- 
man comes  from  a  long  line  of  heroic  Huguenot 
ancestors,  and  Miss  Cassandra  says  that  she 
did  not  mind  so  much  not  understanding  what 
he  said,  as  she  was  quite  sure  that  it  was  all 
to  edification,  which  she  evidently  does  not 
always  feel  with  regard  to  the  long  tales  that 
the  guides  spin  off  for  us,  and  in  truth  Lydia 
and  I  have  tripped  them  up  more  than  twice  in 
their  history.  We  returned  to  the  hotel  quite 
enthusiastic  about  the  chapel  and  its  pastor, 
and  Miss  Cassandra  is  already  planning  some 
benevolent  scheme  to  help  the  evidently 
struggling  congregation.  If  her  means  were 
equal  to  her  charitable  intent,  what  would  she 
not  do  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  in  all  quarters 
of  the  globe?  Walter  and  Archie  were  so  im- 

260 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


pressed  by  her  description  of  "the  venerable 
descendant  of  a  long  line  of  massacred  Hugue- 
nots" that  they  have  made  substantial  acknowl- 
edgments to  be  sent  by  Lydia  and  myself  to 
the  patrons  of  the  little  chapel. 

The  idea  of  visiting  three  chateaux  in  one 
afternoon  was  rather  appalling  at  first;  but 
the  afternoon  was  long,  beginning  soon  after 
our  twelve  o'clock  dejeuner,  and  the  roads  are 
fine  for  motoring  in  this  level  country.  Our 
way  lay  for  some  miles  by  Loire,  first  on  one 
bank  and  then  on  the  other.  This  flat  country, 
with  its  wide  reaches  of  meadow  land  and 
distant  horizon  lines,  has  a  charm  of  its  own, 
its  restfulness  suits  the  drowsy  autumn  days, 
and  no  trees  could  be  better  fitted  to  border 
these  roadsides  and  river  banks  than  the  tall 
slim  Lombardy  poplars,  with  their  odd  bunches 
of  foliage  atop  like  the  plumes  and  pompons 
on  soldiers '  caps.  Down  by  some  of  the  streams 
large  white  poplars  have  spread  out  their 
branches,  making  coverts  from  the  sunshine 
for  man  and  beast.  On  these  poplars  we 
noticed  what  looked  like  huge  green  nests. 
"Are  they  crows'  nests?"  we  asked,  as  there 
seem  to  be  no  end  of  crows  all  about  here. 

261 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


"No,  not  for  the  corbeaux,"  said  the  chauf- 
feur, shaking  his  head  and  looking  fairly 
puzzled,  as  he  explained  with  some  elaboration 
that  this  was  a  parasitic  plant  which  drew  its 
nourishment  from  various  trees,  and  that  later 
in  the  season  white,  waxlike  berries  would 
appear  upon  it. 

"It  is  the  mistletoe!"  exclaimed  Lydia,  joy- 
ously, as  if  meeting  an  old  friend  in  a  strange 
land,  and  as  she  was,  as  usual,  conducting  the 
general  information  course,  she  asked  the 
chauffeur  if  it  was  not  used  for  decoration  at 
Christmas  and  the  New  Year,  being  hung  where 
lovers  were  likely  to  pass,  a  custom  derived 
from  the  rites  of  the  ancient  Druids.  The 
chauffeur  was  evidently  unacquainted  with  the 
ways  of  the  Druids,  his  studies  in  folk  lore 
not  having  been  extensive;  but  the  bit  about 
the  lovers  he  understood,  and  in  that  curious 
way,  that  has  so  often  surprised  us,  perhaps 
by  a  certain  mental  telepathy,  he  suddenly 
understood,  slapped  his  hand  upon  his  knee, 
and  exclaimed,  "Yes,  yes,  Mademoiselle,  it  is 
the  same  thing,  le  mis-le-toe,  le  gui." 

So  it  is  le  gui,  that  we  see  on  so  many  trees, 
and  this  man,  evidently  of  the  soil,  as  he  knows 

262 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


all  about  the  products  here,  tells  us  that  it 
grows  upon  pear,  apple  and  other  trees  and  is 
cut  off  and  sent  in  great  quantities  to  the  large 
towns  for  holiday  celebrations. 

From  the  level  landscape  with  low-lying 
meadows  and  fields  of  turnips  in  which  men 
and  women  were  at  work,  we  suddenly  saw  the 
great  round  towers  of  Chaumont  rising  from 
among  the  trees  of  a  well-wooded  ridge.  Like 
Langeais,  Chaumont  is  a  strong  fortress  of  the 
middle  ages,  dark  and  lowering  at  a  first  view, 
but  with  much  beauty  in  its  hillside  park  and 
gardens.  We  crossed  a  creaking,  swaying  sus- 
pension bridge,  one  is  always  crossing  bridges 
here,  as  the  Loire  winds  itself  around  these 
chateaux  as  if  it  delighted  to  encircle  them  in 
its  shining  arms. 

The  best  view  of  the  chateau  is  from  this 
bridge,  which  connects  the  villages  of  Chaumont 
and  Onzain.  From  this  coign  of  vantage  it 
rises  before  us,  crowning  the  hill-crest  with 
its  many  towers  and  dominating  the  little  vil- 
lage at  its  feet  and  the  broad  river.  The  Loire 
is  twice  as  wide  here  as  at  Blois,  its  surface 
broken  up  by  many  sand  bars  and  stretches  of 
pebbly  beach,  such  brilliantly  colored  pebbles 

263 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


as  we  used  to  see  in  Northern  Italy,  when  the 
rivers  were  low  as  these  are  here  to-day.  Much 
the  same  view  is  this  as  John  Evelyn's  first 
sight  of  Chaumont,  on  a  May  day  long  ago: 
"We  took  boate,"  wrote  Evelyn,  "passing  by 
Chaumont,  a  proud  castle  on  the  left  hand; 
before  it  a  small  island  deliciously  shaded  with 
tall  trees. ' '  As  we  motored  through  the  village 
street,  whose  houses  run  parallel  with  the  river, 
we  noticed  that  the  town  seemed  to  be  en  fete. 
The  outside  of  the  little  church  was  decorated 
with  banners,  lanterns  and  flowers,  while  within 
it  was  so  filled  to  overflowing  with  villagers, 
and  small  maidens  in  white  frocks  and  pink 
and  blue  sashes,  that  we  could  scarcely  get  our 
noses  within  the  doorway.  The  village  was 
celebrating  some  church  festival,  the  chauffeur 
told  us;  but  we  stupidly  forget  which  saint 
was  being  honored,  perhaps  because  the  re- 
mainder of  the  afternoon  was  spent  among 
those  who  had  small  claim  to  saint-hood,  and 
then  as  Miss  Cassandra  says,  "There  are  so 
many  of  these  saints,  how  can  we  ever  keep 
track  of  them  all?" 

"And  it  is  so  much  easier  to  remember  the 
sinners,"  Walter  adds,  "because  there  is 
always  something  doing  among  them." 

864 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


Leaving  the  auto  in  the  village,  we  climbed 
up  to  the  castle  by  a  steep  and  narrow  path 
and  entered  the  great  doorway  where  the  moat 
and  drawbridge  between  the  huge  round 
towers  again  reminded  us  of  Langeais.  Over 
this  entrance  are  the  graven  initials  of  Louis 
and  Anne  of  Brittany,  the  arms  of  George  of 
Amboise  with  his  cardinal's  hat,  and  the  double 
C's  of  Charles  of  Chaumont  and  his  wife, 
Catherine  of  Chauvigny.  Here  also  are  some 
scattered  D  's  which  stand  for  Diane  of  Poitiers, 
who  consented  to  accept  this  chateau  when 
Catherine  offered  her  a  Hobson's  choice  of 
Chaumont  or  nothing.  We  were  especially  in- 
terested in  a  rich  frieze  in  which  were  inter- 
twined the  double  C's  and  the  odd  device  of 
the  burning  mountain,  ' '  Chaud-mont, "  from 
which,  it  is  said,  the  name  of  the  chateau  was 
derived.  As  Chaumont  is  still  inhabited,  we 
were  not  shown  the  whole  of  the  castle,  but 
fortunately  for  us  the  suite  of  historic  rooms 
was  on  view.  Here  again  we  came  upon  asso- 
ciations with  the  dreadful  Catherine,  whose 
bedroom  and  furniture  are  shown  to  visitors. 
Whether  or  not  these  articles  are  genuine,  and 
grave  doubts  are  thrown  upon  their  authen- 
ticity, they  are  very  handsome  and  of  the 

265 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


proper  period.  The  tapestries  in  these  rooms 
are  all  old  and  charming  in  color,  of  old  rose 
and  pink.  A  description  which  I  came  across 
in  a  delightful  book  by  Mr.  Theodore  A.  Cook, 
which  M.  La  Tour  brought  us  from  his  mother's 
library,  gives  a  better  idea  of  this  tapestry 
than  any  words  of  mine:  "Beside  the  door  a 
blinded  Love  with  rose-red  wings  and  quiver 
walks  on  the  flushing  paths,  surrounded  by 
strange  scrolls  and  mutilated  fragments  of  old 
verses;  upon  the  wall  in  front  are  ladies  with 
their  squires  attending,  clad  all  in  pink  and 
playing  mandolins,  while  by  the  stream  that 
courses  through  the  flowery  meadows  small 
rosy  children  feed  the  water  birds,  that  seem 
to  blush  with  pleasure  beneath  the  willow 
boughs  of  faded  red." 

Next  to  the  so-called  room  of  Catherine  de 
Medicis  is  the  chamber  attributed  to  Ruggieri, 
the  chosen  aide  and  abettor  of  her  schemes, 
which  apartment  very  properly  communicates 
with  a  private  stairway  leading  to  the  platform 
of  the  tower  which  is  said  to  have  been  used  by 
him  as  an  observatory.  WhetEer  or  not 
Catherine  ever  inhabited  these  rooms,  and  we 
know  that  she  never  lived  for  any  length  of 

266 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


time  at  Chaumont,  I  must  confess  that  seeing 
them  thus  conveniently  placed  for  plotting  and 
adventure,  they  impressed  us  even  more  than 
her  secret  stairways  and  poison  cupboards  at 
Blois.  This  may  have  been  because  these  rooms 
are  small  and  dark  and  dreary,  Ruggieri 's 
being  in  one  of  the  corner  towers,  with  small 
windows  cut  in  the  wall,  which  is  over  two 
metres  in  thickness.  From  whatever  reason, 
these  apartments  are  the  most  weird  and 
ghostly  that  we  have  seen,  fitted  up  as  they 
are  with  many  memorials  of  Catherine,  and  two 
portraits  of  her,  one  in  a  rich  costume,  an  ex- 
tinguisher gown  with  pink  underskirt  and  wide 
full  sleeves  bordered  with  a  band  of  fur, 
each  one  as  large  as  an  ordinary  muff.  There 
is  also  a  portrait  of  Ruggieri  here,  whose  dark, 
sinister  face  adds  much  to  the  grewsomeness 
of  the  room,  and  standing  here  we  could  readily 
imagine  the  scene,  described  by  a  chronicler  of 
the  time,  when  the  Queen  sought  Ruggieri  here 
among  his  philters,  minerals,  foreign  instru- 
ments, parchments  and  maps  of  the  heavens, 
to  consult  him  about  the  future  of  her  offspring. 
This  was  soon  after  the  death  of  Henry  IT, 
when  the  young  King's  health  had  begun  to 

267 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


break  down.  When  the  Queen  desired  to  be 
shown  the  horoscopes  of  her  children,  by  some 
skillful  arrangement  of  mirrors  the  astrologer 
made  her  four  sons  to  pass  before  her,  each  in 
turn  wearing  crowns  for  a  brief  period ;  but  all 
dying  young  and  without  heirs,  each  figure  was 
to  turn  around  as  many  times  as  the  number  of 
years  he  was  to  live.  Poor  Francis  appeared, 
wan  and  sickly,  and  before  he  had  made  an  en- 
tire circle  he  passed  out  of  sight,  from  which 
the  Queen  knew  that  the  young  King  would  die 
before  the  year  was  out,  which,  as  we  know, 
came  true,  as  did  some  of  the  other  prognostica- 
tions. What  must  have  filled  to  the  brim  the 
cup  of  misery  which  this  ambitious,  disap- 
pointed woman  had  held  to  her  lips,  was  to  see 
the  rival  of  her  sons,  the  bitterly  hated  Henry 
of  Navarre,  following  their  shadows  upon  the 
mirror  and  making  over  twenty  turns,  which 
meant  that  he  would  reign  in  France  for  twenty 
years,  or  more.  By  whatever  means  the 
astrologer  accomplished  these  predictions,  the 
remarkable  thing  about  them  is  that  the  account 
of  this  interview  at  Chaumont  was  written 
during  the  reign  of  Henry  III,  before  some  of 
them  had  been  fulfilled.  Catherine,  firmly  be- 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


lieving  in  Ruggieri's  prognostications,  left  the 
chateau  a  sadder  if  not  a  wiser  woman. 

The  rooms  of  Catherine  communicate 
directly  with  the  chapel,  where  there  is  a  most 
realistic  picture  of  The  Last  Judgment,  and 
her  book  of  the  hours  lies  open  on  her  prie  dieu 
as  if  she  had  just  finished  her  devotions.  For 
good  and  sufficient  reasons,  we  do  not  think 
of  this  Queen  at  prayer  as  readily  as  we  figure 
her  taking  part  in  affairs  of  state,  plotting  for 
the  destruction  of  her  enemies  and  trying  to 
hoodwink  the  Huguenots  and  Leaguers  in  turn. 

"And  yet,"  as  Walter  reminds  us,  " Cathe- 
rine was  extremely  devout,  with  all  her  dev- 
iltry. ' '  You  may  remember  a  portrait  of  her  in 
fine  enamel  at  the  Louvre,  which  represents 
Catherine  kneeling  before  an  altar,  her  hands 
devoutly  clasped,  and  as  if  to  give  point  to 
the  time-honored  adage  "handsome  is  that 
handsome  does,"  the  Queen's  face,  in  this 
enamel,  possesses  some  claim  to  good  looks. 

M.  La  Tour  has  been  telling  us  of  some  old 
papers,  recently  brought  to  light,  which  prove 
that  Catherine,  during  the  babyhood  of  her 
children,  was  an  anxious  and  watchful  mother. 
She  seems  to  have  written  careful  and  minute 

260 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


directions  regarding  the  food  and  clothing  of 
her  little  ones,  in  one  instance  directing  that 
her  son  Henry  should  not  be  encouraged  to 
eat  largely,  adding,  like  any  wise  mother  of 
to-day,  "I  am  of  opinion  that  my  children  are 
rather  ill  from  being  too  fat  than  too  thin." 
The  evidence  of  this  opinion  is  borne  out  by 
Clouet's  drawings  of  the  chubby  face  of  Henry 
and  the  fat,  heavy  cheeks  of  Francis  II,  both 
in  their  babyhood.  It  was  little  Francis,  an 
unassertive  prince  in  after  years,  who  at  the 
age  of  two  insisted  upon  discarding  his  petti- 
coats, upon  which  the  King,  when  consulted 
upon  this  important  question,  wrote  to  the 
governor  of  the  royal  nursery,  "It  is  right 
indeed  that  my  son  should  wear  breeches  if  he 
asks  for  them;  for  I  do  not  doubt  that  he 
knows  perfectly  well  what  is  needful. ' ' 

These  intimate  details  of  the  youth  of  the 
royal  children,  trifling  as  they  are,  add  a  human 
interest  to  the  figures  of  Henry  II  and  Cathe- 
rine, whom  we  only  think  of  as  sweeping  through 
these  chateaux  in  form  and  state,  and  raise  a 
question  as  to  whether,  after  all,  this  cruel 
Queen  had  not  a  heart  somewhere  tucked  away 
under  her  jewelled  bodice. 
270 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


Chaumont  has  many  associations  earlier 
than  the  days  of  Catherine,  reaching  back  to 
Charles  of  Amboise,  who  built  much  of  the 
chateau,  and  to  his  father  Georges,  one  of  the 
chief  ministers  of  Louis  XII.  It  is  said  that 
Georges  of  Amboise  used  his  tact  and  influence 
to  gain  the  papal  bull  necessary  for  the  King's 
divorce  from  Jeanne  of  France,  which  was 
brought  to  Chinon  by  Caesar  Borgia,  with  great 
state  and  ceremony.  It  was  this  same  papal 
envoy  who  brought  Georges  d 'Amboise  his 
cardinal's  hat.  Unscrupulous  as  he  may  have 
been  in  some  instances,  Cardinal  d 'Amboise 
seems  to  have  been,  in  the  main,  a  wise  and 
judicious  minister  and  helped  Louis  to  institute 
many  important  reforms. 

The  romance  of  Chaumont  is  its  association 
with  the  knightly  figure  of  Henri  Coiffier  de 
Euze,  Marquis  de  Cinq  Mars.  The  opening 
scene  of  De  Vigny's  novel  rises  before  us,  as 
we  pass  through  the  rooms  of  Chaumont.  The 
young  Marquis  was  about  to  set  forth  upon  his 
ill-fated  journey  into  the  great  world,  and  the 
members  of  his  family  were  gathered  together 
for  a  solemn,  farewell  meal.  De  Vigny  repre- 
sents the  poor  youth  neglecting  his  dinner,  and 
271 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


even  indifferent  to  his  mother's  sorrow  over  his 
departure  in  his  desire  to  meet  the  beautiful 
eyes  of  Marie  de  Gonzague,  who  was  seated  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table,  from  whom  he  was 
soon  to  part  forever.  It  was  by  a  lattice  win- 
dow in  the  rez-de-chaussee  of  the  western  tower 
that  Cinq-Mars  found  Marie  waiting  for  him, 
when  he  retraced  his  steps  and  came  back  at 
midnight  for  a  last  word  with  her.  We  looked 
in  vain  for  the  window  by  which  the  lovers 
swore  eternal  fidelity  to  their  love  and  to  each 
other ;  but  the  chateau  has  doubtless  undergone 
some  changes  since  those  early  days,  although 
it  looks  so  ancient.  Lydia  and  I  were  wishing 
for  a  copy  of  Cinq-Mars  in  order  to  follow  the 
young  Marquis  through  his  sad  and  singular 
experience  at  Loudun,  his  meeting  with  his 
old  friend  De  Thou,  his  brilliant  exploit  at 
Perpignan,  his  rapid  preferment  at  court,  and 
— just  here  Walter  called  us  from  our  rapid 
review  of  the  career  of  Cinq-Mars  to  show  us 
a  head  of  Benjamin  Franklin  in  terra  cotta. 
This  excellent  low  relief  of  Franklin  is  in  a 
case  with  a  number  of  other  medallions,  made 
by  an  Italian,  Nini,  whom  the  owner  of 
Chaumont  brought  here  in  the  hope  of  turning 

272 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


to  account  some  clay  found  on  the  estate.  This 
admirable  medallion  excited  the  two  antiqua- 
rians of  the  party  more  than  anything  we  have 
seen  here,  even  more  than  the  weird  sky  parlor 
of  Euggieri.  Walter  is  wondering  whether  this 
is  not  the  medallion  about  which  Dr.  Franklin 
wrote  to  his  daughter  soon  after  his  arrival  at 
Passy,  as  the  first  of  its  kind  made  in  France. 
This  idea  seems  more  probable,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  the  same  M.  Le  Ray,  who  owned 
Chaumont  at  that  time,  was  Franklin's  host  at 
Passy  for  nine  years.  All  of  which,  as  Walter 
says,  makes  it  more  than  likely  that  the  old 
philosopher  came  to  Chaumont  to  have  his  por- 
trait modelled  by  Nini,  especially  as  his  rela- 
tions with  the  master  of  Chaumont  were  of  the 
most  friendly  nature.  The  old  potteries  in 
which  the  Italian  artist  worked  have  long  since 
been  turned  into  stables  and  a  riding  school. 

Another  familiar  and  even  more  recent 
figure  associated  with  Chaumont  is  Madame 
de  Stael,  who  took  refuge  here,  while  reading 
the  proofs  of  her  work  upon  Germany,  Chau- 
mont being  the  requisite  forty  leagues  from 
Paris.  M.  Le  Bay  and  his  family,  with  whom 
Madame  de  Stael  was  upon  the  most  intimate 

18  273 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


terms,  were  in  America  at  this  time.  Here  in  the 
old  chateau  the  De  Staels  lived  for  some  time, 
the  authoress  working  in  peace  and  quietness 
upon  her  great  work.  When  M.  Le  Rmy  and 
his  family  returned  to  Chaumont,  although 
hospitably  invited  to  remain  at  the  chateau, 
Madame  de  Stael  insisted  upon  removing  with 
her  family  to  a  villa  in  the  neighborhood,  which 
was  placed  at  her  disposal  by  M.  de  Salaberry. 
At  this  place,  called  Fosse,  Madame  de  Stael 
welcomed  Madame  Eecamier  and  other  friends, 
and  with  the  charming  French  trait  of  making 
the  most  of  the  joys  of  the  hour,  she  wrote 
with  enthusiasm  of  the  happy  days  that  she 
passed  near  her  friends  at  Chaumont.  Even 
if  the  old  Vendean  soldier,  the  chatelain  of 
Fosse,  took  little  care  of  his  estate,  she  said 
that  his  constant  kindness  made  everything 
easy  and  his  original  turn  of  mind  made  every- 
thing amusing.  ''No  sooner  had  we  arrived," 
wrote  Madame  de  Stael,  "than  an  Italian 
musician  whom  I  had  with  me,  to  give  lessons 
to  my  daughter,  began  to  play  the  guitar.  My 
daughter  accompanied  on  the  harp  the  sweet 
voice  of  my  fair  friend,  Madame  Eecamier ;  the 
peasants  assembled  below  the  windows  aston- 

274 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


ished  to  find  this  colony  of  troubadours  who 
came  to  enliven  the  solitude  of  their  master.  It 
was  there  that  I  passed  my  last  days  in  France, 
with  a  few  friends  whose  memories  are  cher- 
ished in  my  heart.  Surely  this  reunion  so 
intimate,  this  solitary  sojourn,  this  delightful 
dalliance  with  the  fine  arts  could  hurt  no  one. ' ' 

Charming,  innocent,  pastoral  seems  this 
life,  as  Madame  de  Stae'l  described  it,  and  yet 
even  such  simple  pleasures  as  these  she  was 
not  allowed  to  enjoy,  for  during  a  brief  visit 
to  the  home  of  M.  de  Montmorency,  an  attempt 
was  made  to  seize  her  manuscripts,  which  her 
children  had  fortunately  put  in  a  place  of 
safety;  her  book  was  suppressed  and  she  was 
ordered  to  leave  France  within  three  days. 

When  Madame  de  Stae'l  asked  why  she  was 
treated  with  such  harshness  by  the  govern- 
ment and  why  her  book  was  censured,  the 
answer  given  under  the  signature  of  the  min- 
istry plainly  stated  that  the  head  and  front  of 
her  offending  consisted  in  her  not  having  men- 
tioned the  Emperor  in  her  last  work.  It  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  a  man  who  could  do 
such  great  things  as  Napoleon  could  be  so  small 
as  to  follow  this  brilliant  woman  with  bitter, 

275 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


relentless  hatred,  because  she  failed  to  burn 
incense  at  his  shrine. 

Although  we  were  not  given  the  freedom 
of  the  grounds,  we  were  shown  the  beautiful 
court  of  honor  with  its  one  fine  tree,  a  cedar 
of  Lebanon  which  spreads  its  branches  quite 
close  to  the  chapel  walls.  There  is  an  old 
Italian  well  in  this  court,  with  low  reliefs 
carved  upon  its  sides,  and  graceful  ornaments 
of  wrought  iron  above  the  sweep.  We  pictured 
to  ourselves  the  Marquis  de  Cinq  Mars  and 
Marie  de  Gonzague  meeting  in  this  court,  under 
the  friendly  branches  of  the  great  cedar,  and 
so  with  a  tender  thought  for  these  hapless  old- 
time  lovers,  we  turned  away  from  Chaumont. 
Still  musing  and  dreaming  over  its  numerous 
and  varied  associations,  we  motored  along 
toward  Cheverny.  This  was  an  afternoon  in 
which  to  dream, — the  air  was  full  of  a  delicious 
drowsy  autumnal  warmth,  and  a  soft  haze  hung 
over  the  Loire  and  its  tributaries.  Involun- 
tarily our  thoughts  turn  back  to  the  time  when 
the  kings  and  nobles  of  France  made  their 
stately  progress  along  these  same  roads,  manv 
of  them  Roman  roads,  for  the  great  road- 
builders  were  all  over  this  country  as  in  Eng- 

276 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


land.  Upon  these  highways  over  which  we 
speed  along  in  an  auto,  great  lumbering  stage 
coaches  once  made  their  way,  and  in  the  fields, 
as  to-day,  were  the  toilers,  the  husband  and 
wife,  as  in  the  Angelus  of  Millet.  For  an 
instant  they  would  look  up  from  their  work 
to  see  what  all  the  racket  was  about,  and  take 
a  momentary  interest  in  the  gilded  coaches,  the 
gay  outriders,  the  richly  caparisoned  horses, 
and  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  royalty. 
If  near  the  highway,  they  would  catch  a  fleet- 
ing glimpse  of  the  beautiful  face  of  some  royal 
or  noble  dame,  and  seeing  only  the  rich  brocade 
of  her  gown,  the  jewels  upon  her  breast  and 
the  gay  feathers  and  flowers  in  her  hat,  they 
would  turn  back  to  their  toil  with  a  half -formu- 
lated wonder  why  life  was  a  holiday  to  these 
favored  ones  and  only  bitter  toil  and  hardship 
to  nous  autres.  Thomas  Jefferson's  propo- 
sition, that  all  men  are  created  free  and  equal, 
would  have  shocked  these  simple  souls  as  it 
would  their  lords  and  masters,  and  yet  a  seed 
of  thought  was  slumbering  in  their  slow  minds, 
germinating  for  a  future  awakening,  a  small 
seed  that  was  destined  to  become  a  thousand  in 
the  sad  and  terrible  reprisals  of  the  French 

277 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Eevolution.  To  these  starved  peasants  luxury 
stood  for  happiness,  never  themselves  knowing 
the  satisfaction  of  a  full  comfortable  meal,  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  make  them  be- 
lieve that  this  outward  show  and  splendor  did 
not  mean  that  these  men  and  women,  who  rolled 
along  in  coaches  and  fed  sumptuously  every 
day,  were  the  supremely  blessed  of  the  earth. 
And  yet  along  these  roads  passed  the  coaches 
of  the  heavy  hearted  as  well  as  of  the  gay. 
By  much  the  same  way  that  we  are  going 
journeyed  the  unhappy  Princess  Joanne  when 
her  husband,  Louis  XII,  was  minded  to  put  her 
away  to  give  place  to  a  more  ambitious  mar- 
riage. Another  royal  lady  to  whom  a  crown 
brought  naught  but  sorrow  and  disappointment 
was  the  gentle  Louise  de  Vandemont-Lorraine, 
wife  of  Henry  III,  who  fared  this  way  to  the 
home  of  her  widowhood  at  Chenonceaux,  and 
by  much  the  same  route  passed  Marie  de 
Medicis  when  she  fled  from  Blois  and  found 
refuge  and  aid  at  Loches. 

As  Cheverny  and  Chaumont  are  not  far 
apart,  we  were  aroused  from  our  reflections  by 
a  sudden  stop  at  a  little  smithy  near  the  gates 
of  the  park.  A  most  charming  little  smithy  is 

378 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


this,  with  a  niched  saint  on  the  outside,  vines 
clambering  all  over  the  wall,  and  a  picturesque 
outside  staircase  with  a  little  balcony  above. 
The  blacksmith,  himself,  as  he  stood  framed  in 
by  the  doorway,  made  a  picture  that  we  thought 
well  worth  taking.  Unfortunately  the  saint  in 
the  niche  could  not  come  in,  as  it  was  some 
distance  from  the  door,  but  just  at  the  right 
moment  Lydia,  quite  unconsciously,  stepped 
before  the  lens,  and  near  the  stone  stairway 
which  she  had  been  examining. 

"Far  better  than  a  saint!"  said  Archie 
under  his  breath,  and  then  aloud,  "Keep  still, 
Miss  Mott,  the  blacksmith  will  stay,  I  am  sure, 
as  he  looks  as  if  he  had  been  built  into  that 
door." 

I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  send  you  a  photo- 
graph of  our  little  smithy,  and  perhaps  one  of 
the  church  across  the  road,  which  is  quaint 
and  interesting,  with  its  timbered  verandas 
(one  cannot,  by  any  stretch  of  courtesy,  call 
them  cloisters)  and  something  like  a  lych-gate 
at  the  entrance.  Within  are  some  marbles  and 
memorial  tablets  of  the  Hurault  family.  It 
seems  that  the  Huraults  owned  the  Seignory 
of  Cheverny  as  long  ago  as  the  fourteenth  cen- 

279 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


tury,  "before  we  Americans  were  discovered," 
as  Miss  Cassandra  says.  Early  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  one  Eaoul  Hurault  built  a  chateau 
here,  of  which  little  or  nothing  is  left.  The 
present  chateau  was  built  by  a  later  Hurault, 
in  1634,  and,  after  passing  through  several 
hands,  it  was  bought,  in  1825,  by  the  Marchio- 
ness Hurault  de  Vibraye,  and  being  thus  re- 
turned to  the  family  of  the  original  owners,  is 
still  in  their  possession.  A  wonderful  tale  was 
this  for  American  ears ! 

Cheverny,  with  its  well  wooded  park,  and  its 
avenue  six  kilometres  in  length,  is  a  noble 
domain;  but  the  outside  of  the  chateau, 
although  its  architecture  has  been  highly 
praised,  did  not  impress  us  particularly.  This 
may  be  because  the  mansion  is  situated  on  a 
level  sweep  of  lawn,  laid  out  after  the  English 
style,  instead  of  crowning  a  great  bluff  like 
Blois,  Amboise  and  Chaumont.  The  interior 
of  Cheverny  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  It 
is  elegant,  aristocratic,  and  yet  most  delight- 
fully homelike,  with  its  spacious  hall,  richly 
decorated  royal  bedroom,  and  salon  as  livable 
as  an  English  drawing  room,  with  bociks, 
magazines  and  writing  materials  scattered  over 

280 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


the  centre  table.  On  the  panelled  walls  are 
gathered  together  a  goodly  and  graceful  com- 
pany of  noble  lords  and  beautiful  ladies,  among 
them  a  fine  full-length  portrait  of  Philippe 
Hurault,  Count  de  Cheverny,  Chancellor  of 
Finance  under  Henry  IV,  and  opposite  him  his 
beautiful  and  stately  wife,  Anne  de  Thou,  Dame 
de  Cheverny,  in  a  gown  of  black  velvet  gar- 
nished with  rich  lace.  This  noble  lady  was 
related,  in  some  way,  to  the  gallant  young  De 
Thou  who  perished  on  the  scaffold  with  his 
friend  Cinq  Mars.  Over  the  chimney-place  is 
a  charming  portrait  by  Mignard  of  the  daugh- 
ter, or  daughter-in-law,  of  Anne  de  Thou, 
Marie  Johanne  de  Saumery,  Marquise  de  Mont- 
glat,  Countess  de  Cheverny.  The  subject  of 
this  lovely  portrait  bears  with  distinction  her 
long  array  of  cumbersome  titles,  while  the  airy 
grace  of  the  figure  and  the  innocent  sweetness 
of  the  rounded  girlish  face  are  irresistibly 
attractive.  Above  the  chimney-place,  in  which 
this  portrait  is  set  in  the  white  wainscot,  is  the 
monogram  (HV)  which  one  finds  all  over  the 
chateau,  a  proof  that  this  ancient  family  is 
legitimiste  to  the  core,  and  devoutly  loyal  to 
whatever  is  left  of  the  ancient  line  of  the  Bour- 

281 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


bons.  In  the  salle  a  manger,  the  monogram  of 
the  last  Henry  of  this  royal  house  is  especially 
conspicuous.  We  were  puzzling  over  the  name 
of  the  pretender  of  to-day  when  the  guide  in- 
formed our  ignorance,  with  a  most  superior 
manner  of  knowing  it  all  and  wondering  that 
we  did  not  know  it  also.  From  what  he  gave 
forth  in  rapid  French  with  many  gestures,  we 
gathered  that  on  the  death  of  the  Comte  de 
Paris  his  eldest  son,  Philippe  Eobert,  Due 
d 'Orleans,  became  heir  to  the  house  of  Bour- 
bon, founded  in  886  by  Eobert  le  Fort,  with 
the  title  Philippe  VII.  The  Due  de  Bourdeaux, 
always  known  as  the  Comte  de  Chambord  after 
he  became  owner  of  the  chateau  of  the  same 
name,  was  heir  to  the  throne,  through  the  elder 
branch  of  the  house,  that  is,  as  the  grandson 
and  eldest  descendant  of  Charles  X,  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch  that  reigned  in  France.  Some 
little  time  before  his  death,  the  Comte  de  Cham- 
bord was  reconciled  to  the  younger  or  Orleans 
branch,  which  had  usurped  the  throne  after 
the  expulsion  of  Charles  X.  By  this  act  the 
Comte  de  Paris  was  recognized  as  the 
legitimate  successor  to  the  throne.  The  present 
Duke  of  Orleans,  should  the  monarchy  be 


urdein  lucres,  Photo. 

ANNE  DE  THOU,    DAME   DE   CHEVERNY 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


restored,  would  rule  as  Philippe  VII.  The 
Comte  de  Chambord  took  the  title  Henri  V, 
as  the  next  Henri  after  the  king  of  Navarre, 
Henri  IV.  The  Comte  de  Chambord  bequeathed 
the  Chateau  of  Chambord,  which  was  his  per- 
sonal property,  to  his  kinsman,  the  Duke  de 
Parme,  who  was  a  Bourbon  of  the  Spanish 
line,  being  the  descendant  of  the  grandson  of 
Louis  XIV,  who  was  elected  to  the  Spanish 
throne  in  1700.  From  the  pride  with  which  this 
information  was  communicated  we  realized  that 
this  very  superior  gardien  was,  like  the  noble 
master  and  mistress  of  Cheverny,  legitimist  to 
the  ends  of  his  fingers. 

While  listening  to  this  genealogical  dis- 
quisition our  eyes  turned  to  a  most  attractive 
looking  tea  table  which  was  set  forth  with 
superb  silver,  and  thin  slices  of  bread  and  but- 
ter and  cake.  With  appetites  sharpened  by 
our  long  ride  through  the  fresh  air,  I  fear  that 
we  all  gazed  longingly  at  that  tempting  regale, 
and  for  Miss  Cassandra,  Lydia  and  I  positively 
trembled.  With  her  strong  feeling  that  the  world 
was  made  for  herself  and  those  whom  she  loves, 
it  would  not  have  surprised  us  to  see  the  good 
lady  sit  down  at  this  hospitable  looking  table 

283 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


and  invite  the  rest  of  the  party  to  join  her. 
Lydia  adroitly  led  the  conversation  toward 
Chambord  and  the  afternoon  tea  which  our 
chauffeur  had  promised  us  there,  adding,  grace- 
fully, *  *  It  is  very  kind  of  the  Marquise  to  allow 
us  to  go  through  her  beautiful  chateau  while  the 
family  is  in  residence."  "Yes,"  assented  Miss 
Cassandra,  "but  how  much  more  hospitable  if 
she  would  invite  us  to  drink  tea  with  herl" 
After  admiring  the  beautifully  decorated  ceil- 
ing and  the  handsome  leather  hangings,  we  left 
the  dining  room  and  its  temptations  for  what 
was  a  much  greater  attraction  to  the  men  of 
the  party,  the  fine  suits  of  armor  in  the  Salle 
des  Gardes. 

Although  Cheverny  cherishes  its  Bourbon 
traditions,  like  the  proverbially  happy  nation 
and  happy  woman  it  has  no  history  to  speak 
of,  having  even  escaped  the  rigors  of  the 
French  Revolution.  In  the  past,  as  to-day,  this 
chateau  seems  to  have  been  a  homelike  and 
peaceful  abode,  its  long  fagade  and  pavilions 
having  looked  down  through  many  centuries 
upon  a  smiling  garden  and  a  vast  lawn,  which 
shut  it  in  from  the  world  beyond  even  more 
effectually  than  its  great  gates. 

284 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


From  Cheverny  our  way  lay  across  a  stretch 
of  open,  level  country  and  then  through  the 
forest  of  Chambord,  which  includes  11,000 
acres  of  woodland.  By  the  time  we  reached 
the  chateau,  we  were,  as  Miss  Cassandra  ex- 
presses it  in  classic  phrase,  ''faint  yet  pur- 
suing" for  lack  of  the  refreshment  to  which 
we  were  not  made  welcome  at  Cheverny.  Our 
chauffeur,  being  accustomed  to  famished  pil- 
grims, conducted  us  at  once  to  a  garden  cafe 
quite  near  the  chateau,  from  whence  we  could 
study  its  long  fagade  while  enjoying  our  tea 
and  patisserie.  And  what  a  huge  monument  is 
this  chateau  of  Chambord  to  the  effete  mon- 
archy of  France,  built  up  from  the  life-blood 
and  toil  of  thousands !  It  impressed  us  as  more 
brutally  rich  and  splendid  than  any  of  the 
palaces  that  we  had  seen,  rising  as  it  does  in 
its  great  bulk  so  unexpectedly  from  the  dead 
level  of  the  sandy  plain,  with  no  especial 
reason  for  its  existence  except  the  will  of  a 
powerful  sovereign.  It  is  not  strange  that  the 
salamander  of  Francis  I  appears  upon  so  many 
of  the  chateaux  of  France,  for  to  this  art-loving, 
luxurious,  and  debonnaire  King  she  owes  ^hqm- 
bord,  Fontainebleau,  St.  Germain  and  the 

285 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


smaller  chateaux  of  Azay-le-Rideau,  Anet  and 
Villers-Cotterets.  Although  Francis  I  brought 
from  Italy,  to  beautify  his  palaces,  Leonardo 
Da  Vinci,  Primaticcio,  Benvenuto  Cellini, 
Florentin  Rosso  and  other  foreign  artists,  it 
has  been  decided  by  those  who  know  more 
about  the  matter  than  we  do,  that  Chambord 
owes  more  to  its  first  architect,  Maitre  Pierre 
le  Nepvue,  dit  Trinqueau,  than  to  anyone  else. 
It  seemed  to  us  that  this  master  hand  was 
happier  in  the  construction  of  Chenonceaux, 
Blois  and  some  of  the  other  chateaux  of  France, 
than  here  at  Chambord,  but  this  is  a  matter  of 
individual  taste.  Vast,  palatial,  magnificent 
Chambord  certainly  is,  and  much  more  attrac- 
tive on  the  north  facade,  where  the  chateau  is 
reflected  in  the  waters  of  the  Cosson,  than  from 
the  cafe  where  we  were  seated.  The  long  line 
of  buildings  in  the  south  front  is  somewhat 
monotonous,  even  broken  as  it  is  by  the  several 
towers,  and  the  great  central  lantern,  which" 
appears  to  the  best  advantage  from  this  side. 
Rich  as  is  all  the  ornamentation  of  Chambord, 
it  is  skyward  that  it  breaks  forth  into  the 
greatest  exuberance  of  Renaissance  decoration. 
W«  reached  the  central  lantern,  with  the  single 

2«6 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


fleur-de-lis  atop,  by  one  of  the  remarkable 
staircases  for  which  the  palaces  of  Francis  I 
are  so  famous.  This  staircase,  which  is  formed 
by  two  spirals  starting  from  different  points, 
and  winding  about  the  same  hollow  shaft  in  the 
centre,  is  so  constructed  that  persons  can  go 
up  and  down  without  meeting.  Mr.  Henry 
James  considered  this  double  staircase  "a  truly 
majestic  joke,"  but  in  days  when  courts  lived 
and  moved  and  had  their  being  in  intrigues, 
schemes  and  plots,  it  doubtless  had  its  uses. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier  gives  in  her 
diary  an  amusing  account  of  her  first 
acquaintance  with  this  double  stairway.  She 
came,  when  a  child,  to  Chambord  to  visit  her 
father,  Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans,  who  stood  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs  to  receive  her,  and  called 
to  her  to  come  to  him.  As  she  flew  up  one 
flight  her  agile  parent  ran  down  the  other; 
upon  which  the  little  girl  gave  chase,  only  to 
find  that  when  she  had  gained  the  bottom  he 
was  at  the  top.  "Monsieur,"  she  said, 
"laughed  heartily  to  see  me  run  so  fast  in  the 
hope  of  catching  him,  and  I  was  glad  to  see 
Monsieur  so  well  amused." 

Having    reached    the    central    lantern    we 

287 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


found  ourselves  upon  a  flat  roof,  surrounded 
by  a  perfectly  bewildering  maze  of  peaks, 
pinnacles,  lanterns,  chimneys  and  spires,  which 
constitute  what  our  guide  is  pleased  to  call  the 
ensemble  de  la  toiture.  This  vast  terrace,  which 
covers  the  main  building  of  the  palace,  is  one 
of  the  architectural  marvels  of  France.  Here 
it  seems  as  if  the  architect  had  allowed  himself 
unlimited  freedom  in  decoration,  in  which  he 
was  aided  by  such  artists  as  Jean  Goujon  and 
Cousin,  who  zealously  worked  upon  the  or- 
namentation of  these  bell  turrets,  balconies 
and  towers,  as  if  to  prove  the  sincerity 
and  beauty  of  French  art.  This  luxuriant 
flowing  forth,  in  stone  carving,  of  foliage, 
flower,  boss  and  emblem,  has  resulted  in  an 
ensemble  of  indescribable  charm,  the  dazzling 
light  stone  of  Bourre,  of  which  the  chateau  is 
built,  lending  itself  harmoniously  to  the  elabo- 
rate Renaissance  decoration. 

It  was  of  Jean  Goujon,  whose  exquisite  work 
we  see  now  and  again  in  these  chateaux,  that 
some  writer  has  said,  that  the  muse  of  Ronsard 
whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  French  sculptor, 
and  thus  Goujon 's  masterpieces  were  poems  of 
Ronsard  translated  in  marble.  It  is  a  rather 
pretty  fancy,  but  Lydia  and  I  cannot  remember 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


its  author.  Walter  says  that  he  can  under- 
stand why  the  Counts  of  Blois  built  their  castle 
here,  as  this  place  seems  to  have  formed  part 
of  a  system  of  fortresses  which  guarded  the 
Loire,  making  it  possible,  in  the  time  of  Charles 
VII,  for  Joan  of  Arc  to  move  her  army  up  the 
river  to  Orleans;  but  why  Francis  should 
have  transformed  this  old  castle  into  a  palace 
is  not  so  easy  to  understand.  When  so  many 
more  attractive  sites  were  to  be  found,  it 
seems  strange  that  he  should  have  chosen 
this  sandy  flat  upon  the  border  of  what  was 
then  the  sad  and  barren  Solange.  One  reason 
given  is  that  the  country  about  Chambord  was 
rich  in  game,  and  we  know  that  Francis  was 
an  inveterate  hunter;  another  theory  is  that  a 
charming  woman,  the  Comtesse  de  Thoury,  one 
of  the  early  loves  of  the  King,  had  a  manor 
in  the  neighborhood. 

"Both  excellent  reasons!"  exclaimed 
Archie,  '  *  Dame  Quickly  is  evidently  an  apt  stu- 
dent of  human  nature." 

These  various  surmises  and  bits  of  informa- 
tion were  poured  into  our  ears  by  the  guide,  a 
plump  and  merry  soul,  whom  Archie  at  once 
dubbed  Dame  Quickly.  As  she  conducted  us 
from  room  to  room,  she  turned  to  me  and, 

19  289 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


with  a  flash  of  her  black  eyes,  exclaimed,  "If 
these  walls  could  speak,  what  tales  they  could 
tell!"  adding  that,  for  her  part,  she  believed 
that  the  King  came  here  for  the  hunting,  the 
Comtesse  de  Thoury  having  been  a  love  of  his 
youth,  and,  with  a  knowing  shake  of  her  head, 
"You  know,  Mesdames,  how  short  is  the 
memory  of  man  for  an  early  love,  especially  a 
king's  memory,  when  another  is  always  to 
be  found  to  take  the  vacant  place."  When  we 
explained  this  philosophic  reflection  upon  their 
sex  to  the  men  of  the  party,  they  declared  that 
an  unfair  advantage  was  being  taken  by  this 
facetious  dame,  simply  because  they  were  not 
able  to  answer  back  and  vindicate  the  eternal 
fidelity  of  man.  Then,  as  if  divining  what 
was  being  said,  through  her  quick  woman's 
instinct,  she  drew  us  toward  a  window  in  the 
study  of  Francis  I  and  showed  us  these  lines 
scratched  upon  one  of  the  panes: 

Souvent  f emme  varie ; 
Mai  habile  qui  s'y  fie. 

Some  discredit  is  thrown  upon  the  authen- 
ticity of  these  lines,  and  if  Francis  wrote  them 
in  his  old  age,  his  point  of  view  must  have 
greatly  changed  since  his  earlier  days,  when  he 

290 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


so  gaily  and  gallantly  said  that  a  court  without 
ladies  was  a  year  without  spring  and  a  spring 
without  roses.  Francis  spent  much  of  his  time 
in  his  later  years  at  Chambord,  his  chief  solace 
being  the  companionship  of  his  lovely  sister, 
Marguerite,  Queen  of  Navarre,  the  author  of 
the  Heptaineron,  whose  beauty  and  intellect 
were  the  inspiration  of  many  French  poets. 

One  of  the  pleasing  sides  of  the  character 
of  the  King  was  his  devoted  affection  for  this 
sister,  with  whom  he  had  spent  a  happy  youth 
at  Amboise,  and  she,  loving  him  beyond  any 
other  being,  wrote  verses  to  express  her  grief 
when  they  were  separated.  A  varied,  many- 
sided,  personality  was  Francis  I,  and  with  all 
his  faults  possessed  of  a  charm  of  his  own,  and 
a  taste  in  the  fine  arts  that  added  much  to  the 
beauty  of  his  kingdom.  Something  of  this  we 
said  to  Dame  Quickly,  who  replied,  with  another 
wise  shake  of  her  head,  "The  history  of 
Francis  is  a  wonderful  history,  Mesdames, 
made  up  of  many  things.  There  is  always  state 
policy,  and  religion,  et  un  peu  les  femmes,"  the 
knowing  look  and  shrug  with  which  this  bit  of 
wisdom  was  communicated  is  simply  untrans- 
latable. 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Only  a  few  of  the  365  rooms  of  Cham- 
bord  are  furnished;  we  were  shown  the  bed- 
room of  the  late  Comte  de  Chambord,  a  ghostly 
apartment,  it  seemed  to  us  in  the  fading  day- 
light, the  bed  hung  with  elaborate  tapestries, 
the  work  of  the  loyal  hands  of  the  ladies  of 
Poitou.  Miss  Cassandra  asked  the  guide  if 
she  would  not  be  afraid  to  sleep  in  this  dismal 
chamber.  "No,"  she  answered,  "there  are  no 
revenants  here,  the  great  people  who  lived 
here  do  not  walk,  they  had  such  an  active 
life  with  their  hunting  and  fetes  that  they  are 
content  to  rest  quietly  in  their  beds." 

We  passed  through  the  council  chamber  of 
the  chateau,  where  there  are  more  tapestries, 
these  presented  by  the  loyal  inhabitants  of 
Blois  and  the  Limousin  districts,  and  here  also 
is  a  quite  useless  throne  donated  by  some 
devoted  legitimists.  In  the  chapel,  we  were 
shown  some  tapestry  worked  by  Madame 
Eoyale,  during  her  imprisonment  in  the 
Temple,  that  daughter  of  Marie  Antoinette 
who  alone  survived  her  unfortunate  family  and 
as  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  lived  to  quite  an 
advanced  age. 

The  fast-fading  daylight  made  it  impossible 

292 


THREE  CHATEAUX 


to  see  many  of  the  portraits  in  the  great  re- 
ception room ;  among  them  we  noticed  two  por- 
traits of  Anne  of  Austria,  and  a  Van  Loo  of  the 
beautiful  unloved  Queen  of  Louis  XV,  Marie 
Leczinska.  In  this  picture  she  appears  so 
graceful  and  charming  that  one  wonders  how 
the  King  could  have  been  insensible  to  her 
attractions;  but  one  need  never  be  surprised 
at  the  vagaries  of  royalty,  and  it  is  not  to  be 
expected  that  diplomatic  alliances  should  be 
happy. 

What  interested  the  men  of  the  party 
especially,  was  the  little  light  wagon  in  which, 
we  were  told,  the  owner  of  Chambord,  the  Due 
de  Parme,  went  a  hunting  with  that  good 
legitimist,  the  Master  of  Cheverny. 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Walter,  "that  the  noble 
Duke  has  a  neighbor  of  the  same  stripe  to  go 
a  hunting  with  him,  the  grandeur  of  this  great 
palace  without  a  friendly  neighbor  to  come  in 
and  take  a  hand  at  cards  or  crack  a  joke  with 
him,  would  be  simply  appalling.'* 

"The  idea  of  jokes  in  this  vast  mausoleum 
of  departed  grandeur!"  exclaimed  Miss  Cas- 
sandra. "It  would  be  like  dancing  in  a 
cemetery.  Do  ask  that  lively  black-eyed  dame 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


how  many  there  are  in  family  when  the  owners 
are  at  home." 

'  *  Monsieur  le  Due  has  twenty-two  children, ' ' 
was  the  reply.  "He  lives  in  Italy,  but  comes 
here  sometimes  for  the  hunting. ' '  * 

"And  does  he  bring  his  family  with  him?" 

"Pas  tout  le  monde  at  the  same  time, 
Madame,  although  we  have  enough  rooms  for 
them  all." 

Laughing  over  this  ready  rejoinder,  we 
parted  from  our  merry  cicerone  with  exchanges 
of  compliments  and  a  clink  of  silver.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  Walter  and  Archie  gave  her 
the  fee  twice  over  because  of  her  beaux  yeux 
and  her  merry  wit. 

It  is  late,  and  I  am  tired  after  the  grande 
tournee,  as  they  call  our  afternoon  trip  here, 
and  Walter  reminds  me 

"  That  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  not  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear." 


*  Since  Mrs.  Leonard  wrote  of  this  conversation  at 
Chambord,  the  chateau  has  passed  into  the  possession  of 
Prince  Sixtus  de  Bourbon,  son  and  heir  of  the  late  Duke 
of  Parma.  The  present  owner  of  Chambord  in  making 
good  his  title  to  the  chateau  testified  that  not  a  penny  of  its 
revenue  has  ever  been  applied  to  any  other  purposes  than 
the  restoration  and  upkeep  of  the  domain. 


XIII 
CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 


LE  CHEVAL  BLANC,  ANGERS,  September  12th. 

FATE  certainly  seemed  to  be  against  my; 
seeing  Chinon  to-day,  as  we  awoke  this  morn- 
ing to  hear  the  rain  pattering  against  our  win- 
dows. A  rather  disconsolate  party,  we  gathered 
around  the  table  for  the  breakfast,  which  we 
had  ordered  an  hour  earlier,  in  order  to  make 
the  day  as  long  as  possible.  Miss  Cassandra, 
who  was  the  only  really  cheerful  member  of 
the  party,  reminded  us  of  the  many  days  of 
sunshine  that  we  have  had  in  Touraine,  adding 
with  her  usual  practical  optimism,  "And  thee 
must  remember,  my  dear,  that  constant  sun- 
shine makes  the  desert,"  this  to  Lydia,  but  we 
all  took  the  wise  saying  to  heart  and  were  quite 
cheerful  by  the  time  we  had  finished  our  break- 
fast, perhaps  also  for  the  more  material 
reason  that  Walter,  through  various  gratuities 
and  persuasions,  had  succeeded  in  making  it  of 
better  cheer  than  the  ordinary  light  dejeuner. 

295 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Another  pleasing  circumstance  was  the  assur- 
ance of  the  chauffeur,  who  arrived  while  we 
were  still  in  the  breakfast  room,  that  the  clouds 
were  breaking  away  and  that  we  should  have 
sunshine  by  noon.  By  the  time  we  had  reached 
Villandry  the  sun  was  struggling  through  the 
clouds,  and  as  we  approached  Chinon,  its  long 
line  of  ancient  ruins  and  the  little  town  clus- 
tered beneath  were  bathed  in  sunshine. 

Although  from  several  points  the  old 
chateau  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  dominated  by 
the  lofty  Tour  de  1'Horloge,  is  beautiful  and 
impressive,  the  best  general  view  of  it  is  from 
the  middle  of  the  lower  bridga,  from  which  we 
could  see  the  three  distinct  foundations,  the 
Chateau  of  St.  George  at  the  upper  or  right 
side,  the  bridge  which  connects  it  with  the  Tour 
de  1  'Horloge,  the  Chateau  du  Milieu,  and  finally 
the  Chateau  de  Coudray  at  the  extreme  lower 
or  left  end  of  the  plateau.  The  whole  is  far 
more  ruinous  than  the  other  famous  castles  of 
Touraine  and  requires  as  much  imagination  to 
make  it  whole  and  habitable  as  some  of  the 
ruins  along  the  Rhine.  Of  the  Chateau  of  St. 
George,  built  by  the  Plantagenet  Kings  to  pro- 
tect the  one  vulnerable  point  in  a  position 
almost  impregnable  in  its  day,  nothing  is  left 

296 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

but  parts  of  the  lower  wall.  So  ruinous,  indeed, 
is  this  chateau,  that  one  is  almost  ready  to 
accept  Pantagruel's  derivation  of  the  name  of 
Chinon,  or  Caino,  from  Cain,  the  son  of  Adam 
its  founder. 

We  climbed  up  the  hill  and  rang  the  bell 
at  the  Tour  de  1'Horloge,  which  is  the  only 
part  of  the  buildings  still  boasting  a  roof,  and 
here  the  concierge  and  his  family  tuck  them- 
selves away  somewhere  within  its  high,  nar- 
row walls.  The  bell  that  we  rang  is  on  the 
outer  side  of  the  tower,  and  in  the  course  of 
time  a  girl,  about  as  big  as  the  old  key  she 
carried,  unlocked  a  door  in  the  archway  through 
which  we  entered.  The  level  spaces  inside  be- 
tween the  different  buildings  have  been  laid  out 
as  a  sort  of  promenade  which  is  open  to  the 
public  on  Sundays  and  holidays.  The  view  up 
and  down  the  slow,  shallow  river  with  its  yellow 
sand-flats,  little  green  islands,  and  the  softly 
wooded  country  beyond  seemed  to  us  one  of 
the  most  charming  in  Touraine.  The  concierge, 
who  was  attempting  to  act  as  guide  to  two 
separate  parties  at  once,  hurried  us  around  in 
such  a  bewildering  fashion  that  it  would  be 
almost  impossible  for  me  to  give  the  exact 
locations  of  the  different  buildings.  What  we 

297 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


all  remember  distinctly  is  the  bare,  roofless 
hall,  of  which  only  a  western  gable  and  a  vast 
chimney-piece  remain,  in  which  Joan  had  her 
audience  with  the  King.  This  hall  was  the 
throne  room,  in  1429,  when  the  fearless  Maid 
appeared  at  Chinon,  having  journeyed  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  leagues  through  a  country 
occupied,  in  many  places,  by  English  and  Bur- 
gundian  troops,  in  order  to  deliver  her  message 
to  the  King.  Although  the  meeting  between 
Charles  VII  and  Joan  was  by  candlelight, 
even  in  the  garish  light  of  day  it  seemed 
strangely  real  here  in  this  great  ruinous  hall. 
Nearly  three  hundred  knights  were  present, 
and  the  King  is  said  to  have  stood  a  little  apart 
amidst  a  group  of  warriors  and  courtiers,  many 
of  them  more  richly  dressed  than  himself,  with 
the  idea,  perhaps,  of  testing  Joan. 

There  are  various  accounts  of  this  audience, 
but  the  one  that  we  like  best  because  it  seems 
the  most  probable  is  that  Joan  knew  the  King 
at  once,  although  she  had  never  seen  him,  and 
going  straight  to  him,  accosted  him  humbly  and 
reverently  like  the  poor,  little  shepherdess  that 
she  was. 
"Gentle  Dauphin,"  she  said  to  the  King  (for 

298 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

she  did  not  think  it  right  to  call  him  King  so 
long  as  he  was  not  crowned),  "My  name  is 
Joan  the  maid;  the  King  of  Heaven  sendeth 
you  word  by  me  that  you  shall  be  anointed  and 
crowned  in  the  city  of  Bheims,  and  shall  be 
lieutenant  of  the  King  of  Heaven  who  is  King 
of  France.  It  is  God's  pleasure  that  our 
enemies,  the  English,  should  depart  to  their 
own  country;  if  they  depart  not  evil  will  come 
to  them,  and  the  kingdom  is  sure  to  continue 
yours." 

Even  after  these  earnest  words  from  Joan, 
the  King,  although  impressed,  was  not  con- 
vinced, and  with  some  reluctance  allowed  her 
to  remain  at  Chinon.  We  were  afterwards 
shown  the  lodgings,  which  this  inhospitable 
royal  host  gave  to  the  persistent  visitor,  in  a 
very  thick-walled  little  tower,  and  according  to 
our  guide,  Joan  could  get  in  or  out  of  her  room, 
on  an  upper  floor,  only  when  her  guards  put  a 
ladder  up  to  her  small  window,  permanent 
stairways  being  considered  unsafe  for  such 
guests. 

The  King  saw  Joan  again  several  times. 
She  did  not  delude  herself  as  to  the  doubts  he 
still  entertained.  "Gentle  Dauphin,"  she  said 

299 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


to  him  one  day,  "Why  do  you  not  believe  me! 
I  say  unto  you  that  God  hath  compassion  on 
you,  on  your  kingdom  and  your  people;  St. 
Louis  and  Charlemagne  are  kneeling  before 
Him,  making  prayer  for  you,  and  I  will  say 
unto  you,  so  please  you,  a  thing  which  will  give 
you  to  understand  that  you  ought  to  believe 
me."  Charles  gave  her  audience  on  this 
occasion,  in  the  presence,  according  to  some 
accounts,  of  four  witnesses,  the  most  trusted 
of  his  intimates,  who  swore  to  reveal  nothing, 
and,  according  to  others,  completely  alone. 
"What  she  said  to  him  there  is  none  who 
knows, ' '  wrote  Alan  Chartier  a  short  time  after 
[in  July,  1429],  "but  it  is  quite  certain  that  he 
was  all  radiant  with  joy  thereat,  as  at  a  revela- 
tion from  the  Holy  Spirit. " 

Archie,  who  read  the  most  recent  life  of 
Joan  of  Arc,  on  the  steamer,  as  a  preparation 
for  Chinon,  reminds  us  that  after  much  sifting 
of  history  and  tradition,  it  has  been  decided  by 
learned  authorities  that  the  revelation  of  the 
Maid,  which  filled  the  King  with  joy,  was  a 
positive  assurance  that  he  was  the  rightful  heir 
to  the  throne  of  France  and  the  true  son  of 
his  father,  Charles  VI. 

300 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

It  is  not  strange  that  Charles  VII  should 
have  doubted  his  own  paternity  with  a  mother 
as  unnatural  and  depraved  as  Isabel  of  Ba- 
varia, and  that  with  a  kingdom  chiefly  in  the 
hands  of  the  English  he  should  have  seriously 
questioned  his  right  and  title  to  the  throne, 
being  himself  of  a  weak  and  doubting  nature. 
It  is  said,  that  in  an  hour  of  great  despondency, 
Charles  prayed  to  God  from  the  depths  of  his 
heart  that  if  he  were  the  true  heir  of  the 
house  of  France,  and  the  kingdom  justly  his, 
God  would  be  pleased  to  help  him  and  defend 
it  for  him.  This  prayer,  which  he  thought 
known  to  God  alone,  the  Maid  recalled  to  the 
mind  of  the  King,  thus  giving  the  sign  and  seal 
of  her  mission,  and  by  this  revelation  she  not 
only  caused  the  King  to  believe  in  her,  but 
strengthened  his  confidence  in  himself  and  in 
his  right  and  title.  True  to  herself  and  "the 
voices, "  for  she  never  spoke  as  of  her  own 
motion,  it  was  always  a  superior  power  speak- 
ing through  her,  as  the  mouthpiece.  She  said : 
"I  tell  thee  on  behalf  of  my  Lord  that  thou  art 
the  true  heir  of  France  and  son  of  the  King." 

After  some  weeks  of  discussion  and  delay, 
Joan's  plan  for  the  relief  of  Orleans  was 

301 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


adopted,  troops  were  gathered  together,  of 
which  she  was  given  the  command,  or  as  she 
naively  expressed  it,  she  was  made  the  "war- 
chief."  Yolande,  Queen  of  Sicily,  the  young 
Queen's  mother  and  the  Due  d'Alengon,  were 
her  zealous  advocates.  Yolande  gave  of  her 
treasures  for  the  relief  of  Orleans,  and  soon 
at  the  head  of  her  army,  her  banner  flying, 
upon  which  was  inscribed  the  name  of  the 
Prince  of  Peace,  surrounded  by  the  lilies  of 
France  and  with  her  troops  singing  Veni  Crea- 
tor, the  dauntless  Maid  passed  through  these 
gates  and  Chinon  knew  her  no  more. 

We  know  that  Joan  accomplished  in  less 
than  a  year  all  that  she  had  promised.  The 
city  of  Orleans  was  relieved,  she  had  led 
Charles  to  Eheims  to  be  crowned  and  had  done 
much  toward  delivering  France  from  the 
English.  Then  came  the  sad  part  of  the  story, 
which  you  know  so  well.  While  we  were  fol- 
lowing the  fortunes  of  the  Maid,  and  here  where 
she  had  so  courageously  taken  up  what  she 
deemed  her  heaven-appointed  task,  feeling 
more  than  ever  before  the  cruelty  and  rank 
injustice  of  her  treatment,  Lydia  exclaimed: 
"Nothing  could  prove  more  forcibly  the  old 

302 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

saying  about  the  ingratitude  of  princes  than 
the  King's  treatment  of  Joan!" 

A  voice  behind  us  echoed,  " Nothing,"  and 
we  turned  to  see  M.  La  Tour,  who  had  followed 
us  and  entered  the  hall  so  quietly  that  we  had 
not  known  that  he  was  anywhere  within  miles 
of  us.  "No,"  he  said,  when  the  first  greetings 
were  over,  "I  am  not  here  to  defend  my  country 
for  her  treatment  of  the  noble  and  fearless 
Maid.  She  did  much  to  regain  the  territory 
of  France  from  the  English  and  to  establish 
the  King  upon  his  throne;  she  came  to  him 
in  the  darkest  hour  and  inspired  him  with  hope 
and  courage,  and  yet  in  the  time  of  her  trial 
he  basely  deserted  her.  No,  there  is  no  excuse 
except  that  at  the  King's  side  there  were  many 
men  jealous  of  the  success  and  military  glory 
of  Jeanne,  to  whisper  tales  in  his  ear.  He  was 
a  weak  and  vacillating  creature,  at  the  best, 
ready  to  follow  the  last  person  who  talked  to 
him,  and  he  probably  believed  some  of  the 
stories  told  him  about  the  good  Maid." 

"And  then,"  as  Archie  reminded  him, 
"Joan  was  given  papers  to  sign  which  she  was 
not  able  to  read  and  thus  set  her  mark  to  her 
own  death  warrant. ' ' 

303 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


"A  sad  and  shameful  talel"  exclaimed  the 
young  Frenchman,  as  we  passed  by  the  donjon 
where  Joan  had  been  lodged  and  by  the  scanty 
ruins  of  the  little  chapel  where  she  stopped  to 
pray,  and  wept  because  the  angels  left  her. 

Just  then,  as  we  were  passing  on  to  find 
some  traces  of  the  several  Angevin  kings,  who 
lived  and  died  at  Chinon,  something  happened 
which  I  cannot  quite  explain.  In  some  way 
Lydia  was  separated  from  us,  as  we  were  pass- 
ing from  one  ruinous  castle  to  another.  She 
has  not  told  me,  and  indeed  there  has  been 
little  time  to  have  a  word  with  her,  but  I  shall 
always  think  that  she  was  so  impressed  by  the 
wonderful  story,  which  seems  so  (real  here, 
where  Joan  saw  the  angels  and  revealed  her 
mission,  that  Lydia  was  in  a  way  overwhelmed 
by  the  mysterious,  spiritual  power  of  it  all, 
and  lingered  behind  us  for  the  peace  and  rest 
of  being  alone,  and  away  from  all  the  talk  and 
from  that  small  child,  with  the  big  key,  who 
recited  her  monotonous  tale  like  a  parrot.  Then 
later,  in  trying  to  find  us,  Lydia  must  have 
gone  off  quite  a  distance  in  the  wrong  direction, 
and  so  became  confused  and  lost  her  way 
among  the  ruins.  This  is  only  my  explanation. 

304 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

Lydia  is  writing  to  you  and  may  give  you 
another.  All  that  I  know  is  that  we  heard  a 
sharp,  sudden  cry  and  turning  we  saw  the  poor 
dear  perched  up  quite  high  on  the  ruins  of  a 
wall,  with  a  steep,  precipitous  descent  between 
her  and  ourselves.  Miss  Cassandra  was  scared 
out  of  her  wits,  M.  La  Tour  begged  Lydia  to 
be  calm,  in  French  and  English,  with  the  most 
dramatic  gestures,  while  Archie,  without  a 
word,  sprang  up  the  steep  ascent,  agile  and 
surefooted  like  the  good  mountain  climber 
that  he  is,  and  without  more  ado  picked  Lydia 
up  in  his  strong  arms  and  bore  her  down  the 
precipice  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby,  and  she  is 
no  light  weight,  as  you  know.  All  that  Lydia 
said,  when  she  found  herself  in  Miss  Cas- 
sandra's embrace,  was  "I  am  so  ashamed  of 
myself  for  losing  my  head.  I  think  I  was  just 
a  little  dizzy,  and  I  was  so  afraid  of  falling 
from  that  wall. ' ' 

1  'Don't  think  about  it,  dear,"  said  Miss 
Cassandra,  "now  that  you  are  safe  and  sound, 
thanks  to  Dr.  Vernon." 

The  good  lady  was  so  overjoyed  at  having 
her  treasure  beside  her  again  that  she  would 
have  been  quite  ready  to  include  her  deliverer 

20  305 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


in  the  warm  embrace  with  which  she  welcomed 
Lydia,  nor  do  I  think  that  Archie  would  have 
objected.  The  situation  was  somewhat  strained, 
for  the  moment,  as  he  had  been  living  at  rather 
high  pressure  with  the  Joan  of  Arc  associations 
when  Lydia 's  escapade  came  to  cap  the  climax. 
Miss  Cassandra's  eyes  were  brimming  over 
with  tears,  and  I  was  more  ready  to  weep  than 
to  laugh,  when  Walter,  as  usual,  came  to  the 
rescue  with  his  sound  common  sense,  saying  to 
Lydia,  whose  modesty  and  reserve  were  dis- 
tinctly shocked  by  the  idea  of  having  made  a 
scene. 

"You  would  never  have  lost  your  head 
up  there,  Miss  Mott,  if  you  had  had  your 
luncheon  before  you  ascended  to  the  heights 
above,"  this  in  Walter's  most  comforting  man- 
ner. "We  have  gone  through  a  lot  of  history 
and  emotion  on  a  breakfast  that  is  a  good 
many  hours  away.  Let  us  go  down  to  the  town 
and  see  what  they  can  do  for  us  in  the  way  of 
luncheon  or  afternoon  tea." 

M.  La  Tour,  who  had  been  rather  left  in 
the  background  during  the  last  excitement,  now 
came  forward  and  offered  to  conduct  us  to 
a  nice  little  hotel  for  luncheon, — insisting,  how- 

306 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

ever,  that  we  should  first  go  with  him  to  see 
the  part  of  the  castle  in  which  Henry  II  of  Eng- 
land died,  in  the  midst  of  the  dissensions  of  his 
rebellious  sons. 

1  'The  most  pitiful,  disgraceful  death-bed 
scene  in  all  history!"  exclaimed  Miss  Cas- 
sandra. "I  don't  see  why  we  need  trouble 
ourselves  about  it.  Henry  was  lying  half  dead, 
here  or  somewhere  else  near  Chinon,  when  his 
son  Richard,  who  had  joined  the  French  King 
against  him,  approached  his  father  to  receive 
from  him  the  kiss  of  peace,  and  such  a  kiss  of 
peace  as  it  was! — the  dying  King  muttering 
under  his  breath  as  he  gave  it,  'May  God  keep 
me  alive  till  I  have  given  you  the  punishment 
you  deserve  I '  " 

"That  was  at  Colombiers,  near  Villandry," 
said  M.  La  Tour,  laughing  over  the  Quaker 
lady's  picture,  gruesome  as  it  was.  "Henry 
was  too  ill  to  return  to  Chinon,  and  so  passed 
the  night  at  Azay-le-Rideau,  or  at  the  Com- 
manderie  of  the  Templars  at  Ballan.  It  was 
there  or  at  Chinon  that  his  clerk,  at  his  request, 
read  to  him  the  list  of  the  rebellious  barons. 
'Sire,*  said  the  man,  'may  Jesus  Christ  help  me ! 
The  first  name  that  is  written  here  is  the  name 

307 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


of  Count  John,  your  son.*  Then  Henry  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall,  caring  no  more  for  himself 
or  the  world,  and  lay  there  muttering,  'Shame 
upon  a  conquered  King!'  " 

It  really  seemed  to  us  as  if  M.  La  Tour 
took  a  certain  ghastly  satisfaction  in  telling  us 
of  the  unseemly  behavior  of  these  English 
kings  and  princes  who  had  appropriated,  justly 
or  unjustly,  so  much  of  his  country's  territory. 
The  only  human  incident  in  the  last  hours  of 
the  great  King  was  the  devotion  of  his  son 
Geoffrey,  who  sat  through  the  hours  of  the 
long  summer  day  fanning  away  the  insects  from 
his  father's  face,  the  dying  man's  head  resting 
upon  his  shoulder  while  a  knight  supported  his 
feet.  The  King  opening  his  eyes,  "recognized  his 
son,  blessed  him,  and  said  that  he  of  all  his 
children  was  the  only  one  that  showed  any 
affection  for  him,  and  that  if  his  life  was  spared 
he  would  make  him  the  most  powerful  prince 
of  them  all.  This,  like  many  another  death- 
bed resolution,  was  not  carried  out,  as  Henry 
died  the  next  day,  before  the  high  altar  of  the 
church  of  St.  Melaine,  which  was  within  the 
chateau,  at  Chinon. 

We  did  not  feel  at  all  sure  that  we  had 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

seen  the  spot  where  the  King  breathed  his  last; 
but  it  really  does  not  much  matter,  as  Miss 
Cassandra  says,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  locate 
the  scene  of  remote  events  among  these  ruinous 
buildings. 

The  trial  of  the  Grand  Master  of  the 
Knights  Templars  was  held  here  in  one  of  the 
halls  of  Chinon  in  1309,  and  swift  retribution 
was  meted  out  to  the  members  of  the  order, 
more  for  the  love  of  gold  than  for  the  love  of 
justice,  as  the  Templars  had  become  the 
bankers  of  Christendom  and  were  possessed 
of  vast  treasures,  which  were  seized  upon 
forthwith. 

A  carving  in  the  donjon  of  Coudray  of 
three  kneeling  knights,  each  one  bearing  a 
sword  and  a  shield,  is  thought  to  have  been 
carved  by  the  Templars  on  their  prison  wall. 

As  we  made  our  way  down  the  hillside  to 
the  town,  M.  La  Tour  reminded  us  of  a  more 
cheerful  association  connected  with  Chinon 
than  those  upon  which  we  had  been  dwelling, 
for  here  it  was  that  the  historian  Philippe  de 
Commines  was  betrothed.  He  had  been  created 
Prince  of  Talmont  by  Louis  XI,  who  arranged 
a  marriage  for  him  with  Helene  de  Chambes, 

309 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


daughter  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  Montsoreau. 
This  betrothal  was  attended  by  the  whole  court, 
and  Louis  heaped  honors  and  rewards  upon 
his  favorite  who  was  made  Governor  of  Chinon. 
A  few  years  later,  after  the  death  of  the  King, 
Commines  entered  into  the  involved  politics  of 
France,  and  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Anne 
de  Beaujeu  who  imprisoned  him  at  Loches;  or, 
as  he  expressed  it  in  Scripture  phrase,  "I 
ventured  on  the  great  ocean,  and  the  waves 
devoured  me. ' '  He,  however,  escaped  from  this 
sea  of  troubles  and  gave  to  the  world  his  valu- 
able history,  composed,  it  is  said,  in  the  hours  of 
his  enforced  retirement. 

"Which  is,"  as  Walter  says,  "a  delicate  and 
extremely  polite  manner  of  referring  to  his 
imprisonment  in  one  of  those  infernal  iron 
cages  at  Loches."  (Pray  notice  that  the  lan- 
guage is  Walter's,  not  mine.) 

On  our  way  to  the  cafe  we  passed  by  the 
statue  of  Rabelais,  and  although  this  was  not 
a  market  day,  to  M.  La  Tour's  infinite  regret, 
there  were  some  booths  in  the  busy  little 
square  and  a  number  of  traffickers.  The  face 
of  the  humorist  who  loved  his  kind,  even  if  he 
often  made  game  of  them,  looked  down  upon 

310 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

the  gay,  chattering,  bargain-making  crowd  in 
the  square  beneath  him,  with  an  expression  half 
satirical,  half  laughing  and  wholly  benevolent. 

There  is  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  date  of 
the  birth  of  Maitre  Frangois  at  Chinon,  and  he 
may  or  may  not  have  lived  in  either  of  the  old 
houses  pointed  out  as  his,  but  he  certainly  be- 
longed to  this  part  of  the  country,  and  we 
are  grateful  to  his  fellow-townsmen  for  honor- 
ing him  so  fittingly. 

In  the  centre  of  the  little  square  a  foun- 
tain, surrounded  by  acacia  trees,  was  playing, 
and  beyond  was  the  welcome  Hotel  de  France 
opening  its  doors  to  us.  After  we  had  ordered 
our  luncheon,  Walter  suddenly  remembered  the 
chauffeur,  and  started  to  hunt  him  up  and  tell 
him  where  to  meet  us  with  the  automobile,  and 
I  joined  him  for  the  pleasure  of  another  stroll 
through  the  town.  M.  La  Tour,  who  accom- 
panied us,  again  regretted  that  this  was  not  a 
market  day,  when  the  peasants  come  in  from 
the  surrounding  country,  and  we  could  then  see 
just  such  a  noisy  merry  crowd  as  Rabelais  de- 
scribed when  Couillatris  goes  to  Chinon,  which 
he  calls  "that  noble,  antique  city,  the  first  in 
the  world,"  to  buy  oxen,  cows  and  sheep,  pigs, 

311 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


geese  and  capons,  dead  and  alive,  and  all 
manner  of  country  produce.  An  antique  city 
Chinon  appeared  to  us,  above  all  that  we  had 
seen;  and  to  add  to  this  impression  we  met  a 
number  of  peasant  women  and  black-eyed  girls 
with  the  picturesque  lace  caps  of  this  province, 
veiling  but  not  concealing  their  fine  dark  hair. 

After  a  luncheon  that  more  than  answered 
our  expectations,  we  strolled  about  the  old 
town,  through  its  narrow  winding  streets  and 
by  the  Place  Jeanne  d  'Arc,  with  its  remarkable 
statue  which  represents  the  Maid  riding  rough- 
shod over  the  prostrate  bodies  of  her  foes; 
her  horse  has  all  four  feet  off  the  ground,  his 
means  of  support,  a  bronze  rod  as  a  sort  of 
fifth  or  middle  leg,  being  more  practical  than 
artistic.  "The  rider's  position  in  the  saddle," 
as  Archie  says,  "would  turn  any  circus  per- 
former green  with  envy."  An  altogether 
atrocious  piece  of  sculpture  is  this,  with  an 
element  of  grotesqueness  in  its  conception 
quite  unworthy  of  one  of  the  most  serious  char- 
acters in  all  history,  the  Maid  to  whom,  as 
Carlyle  says,  "all  maidens  upon  earth  should 
bend." 

Finally,  and  I  must  say  with  some  reluc- 

312 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

tance,  we  turned  our  backs  upon  Chinon  and 
our  faces  toward  Fontevrault,  journeying  by 
much  the  same  route  that  Henry  II  was  carried 
on  his  last  journey,  over  the  bridge  that  he 
had  built  and  by  the  river  and  the  village  of 
Montsoreau. 

By  the  way,  M.  La  Tour  showed  an  amiable 
desire  to  accompany  us  to  Angers,  and  as  our 
touring  car  is  of  hospitable  proportions  we 
were  glad  to  have  his  good  company.  At 
Fontevrault,  which  has  been  turned  from  an 
abbey  into  a  reformatory  for  criminals,  we 
were  fortunate  to  have  some  one  with  us  to 
speak  to  the  sentinel,  as  this  seemed  to  be  a 
day  when  visitors  were  not  welcomed  here. 
After  some  parleying  with  the  officials,  M.  La 
Tour  gained  permission  to  have  us  enter  and 
see  all  that  is  left  of  the  fine  old  church,  whose 
buttresses  and  roofs  we  had  admired  from  a 
distance.  In  the  little  chapel  we  saw  the  four 
Plantagenet  statues  that  still  remain,  after  the 
vandals  of  the  French  Revolution  had  broken 
open  the  tombs  and  destroyed  all  that  they 
could  lay  their  hands  upon.  These  four 
statues  have  been  restored  and  the  faces  re- 
painted. Here  lies  Henry  II,  robed  and 

313 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


sceptred  as  he  was  when  borne  forth  from 
Chinon  for  burial  at  Fontevrault,  and  Richard 
Co3ur  de  Lion,  both  in  the  middle  of  the  group. 
To  the  left  is  Eleanor  of  Guienne,  the  wife  of 
Henry  II.  Three  of  these  recumbent  figures 
are  of  colossal  size,  hewn  out  of  the  tufa  rock 
and  painted.  The  other  statue  of  smaller  size, 
carved  in  wood  and  colored,  represents  the 
English  queen,  Isabel  of  Angouleme,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  as  well  as  the  most  depraved 
queens  of  history;  only  excelled  in  wickedness 
by  her  French  sister  of  a  later  time,  Isabel  of 
Bavaria.  This  earlier  Isabel,  daughter  of 
Aymar,  Count  of  Angouleme,  upon  the  day  of 
her  betrothal  to  Hugues  de  Lusignan,  was 
carried  off  by  John  of  England,  who  put  away 
his  wife,  Avice,  to  marry  this  beautiful,  wicked 
enchantress.  After  the  death  of  John,  Isabel 
came  back  to  France  to  marry  her  old  lover. 
As  we  left  Fontevrault  and  motored  down 
the  hill  towards  the  Loire,  M.  La  Tour  recalled 
to  us  the  ancient  glory  of  this  abbey,  whose 
walls  now  echo  to  the  clank  of  arms  instead  of 
to  the  Ave  Marias  of  the  gentle  sisters.  Fonte- 
vrault was  founded  in  the  eleventh  century  by 
Robert  d'Abrissel,  a  monk,  as  a  place  of  refuge 

314 


CHINON  AND  PONTEVRAULT 

for  a  vast  and  ill-assorted  company  of  men 
and  women  who  gathered  around  him  when  he 
was  preaching  a  crusade  to  Palestine.  From 
this  strange  beginning  the  abbey  became  one 
of  the  most  famous  in  Christendom,  as  it  was 
richly  endowed  by  kings  and  princes,  especially 
by  the  early  English  kings  who  loved  this  beau- 
tiful valley  of  the  Loire.  Many  noble  and  royal 
ladies  presided  over  Fontevrault,  among  them, 
Eenee  de  Bourbon,  sister  of  Francis  I  who, 
while  she  was  Abbess,  rebuilt  the  beautiful 
cloister  which  we  saw  to-day.  Another  and 
later  Lady  Abbess  was  Marie  Madelaine 
Gabrielle  de  Eochechouart,  who  found  time  in 
the  midst  of  her  religious  duties  to  make  trans- 
lations of  some  of  Plato's  works.  New  ideas, 
you  see,  were  finding  their  way  into  the  con- 
vent, it  being  the  fashion  about  that  time  for 
women  to  be  learned,  Mary  Stuart  having  led 
the  way  by  delivering  a  Latin  oration  at  the 
Louvre  to  the  edification  of  all  who  heard  her. 
And  here  came  Mary  Stuart  herself,  while 
Louise  de  Bourbon  was  Lady  Abbess,  brought 
hither  by  her  aunt,  the  Duchess  of  Guise,  to 
charm  and  delight  the  nuns  by  her  beauty  and 
ready  wit.  As  a  religious  establishment  for 

315 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


men  and  women,  ruled  over  solely  by  a  woman, 
the  Abbey  of  Fontevrault  was  unique  in  Chris- 
tendom. 

As  we  motored  along  the  river  bank  beyond 
its  low-lying  sand  marshes  and  line  of  small 
hills,  we  noticed  tiny  black  wind-mills  spread- 
ing out  their  arms  to-  the  breeze,  and  wreaths 
of  smoke  curling  up  from  the  cliffs.  Here  and 
there  the  lowering  sun  would  light  up  a  win- 
dow pane  in  the  cliff,  as  if  to  remind  us  that 
these  hillsides  are  burrowed  out  by  the  workers 
in  the  vineyards  who  make  their  homes  here  as 
in  Touraine  and  in  the  valley  of  Vendomois. 

"It  seems  that  we  are  again  in  the  land  of 
the  troglodytes,"  said  Walter.  "Alfred  de 
Vigny  says  these  peasants  'in  their  love  for 
so  fair  a  home  have  not  been  willing  to  lose 
the  least  scrap  of  its  soil,  or  the  least  grain  of 
its  sand.'  I  think  myself  that  it  is  for  more 
practical  and  economic  reasons  that  they  live 
underground." 

These  cliff  dwellings  continue  for  nearly 
eight  miles  around  Saumur,  and  M.  La  Tour 
tells  us  that  many  of  them  go  back  to  the  days 
of  the  Roman  occupation  when  they  served  the 
conquered  tribes  as  a  last  retreat  from  the 

316 


CHINON  AND  FONTEVRAULT 

invader.  Some  one  has  said  that  every  step 
to  the  southward  takes  us  further  back  in  the 
history  of  France.  Chinon  and  Fontevrault  are 
not  far  south  of  Tours  and  Blois,  and  yet 
we  are  far  back  in  history  to-day,  living  with 
the  Angevin  kings  and  with  the  cave-dwellers 
of  Gaul. 

Even  the  coiffes  of  the  women  are  differ- 
ent here  from  those  worn  in  other  places  on 
the  Loire,  and  in  a  very  distinct  way  we  realize 
that  we  have  left  Touraine  and  are  in  Anjou. 

In  the  fields  the  peasants  were  gathering 
in  their  stores  for  the  winter ;  the  women  pass 
along  the  road  constantly  with  their  odd  pan- 
niers upon  their  backs,  full  of  treasures.  Some-- 
times  they  are  filled  with  fruit  and  vegetables 
and  again  it  is  only  grass  for  the  cattle  or 
faggots  for  the  fire.  As  we  drew  near  Saumur, 
grapes  filled  the  hottes  to  overflowing,  for  this 
is  the  land  of  the  vine,  one  of  the  great  grape- 
growing  regions  of  France. 

We  are  spinning  along  all  too  rapidly  over 
these  perfect  roads,  as  we  long. to  stop  at  so 
many  places,  especially  at  that  tiny  Venice  on 
the  Loire,  a  republic  of  fishermen  and  laborers 
established  by  King  Rene  when  he  was  still  in 

317 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


power.  From  its  sole  palace,  the  Chateau  de 
Pile  d'Or,  Rene's  daughter  went  for^h  to  be 
the  unhappy  Margaret  of  Anjou,  the  Bed  Rose 
of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  during  the  war  of 
the  succession  which  raged  in  England  for  so 
many  years. 

M.  La  Tour  tells  us  there  is  much  to  see  at 
Saumur,  a  very  old  Hotel  de  Ville,  a  twelfth 
century  church,  and  other  ancient  buildings. 
This  city,  once  a  favorite  residence  of  Angevin 
princes  and  English  kings,  was  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  IV,  the  headquarters  of  Protestant- 
ism, with  DuPlessis-Mornay,  the  Pope  of  the 
Huguenots,  as  its  governor.  All  that  we  had 
time  to  see,  this  afternoon,  was  the  fortress 
chateau,  which  stands  high  up  on  the  Quay  de 
Limoges,  overlooking  the  junction  of  the  Loire 
and  the  Thouet.  "We  were  warned  that  if  we 
stopped  again  we  should  not  reach  Angers  until 
after  dark,  and  so  we  sped  along  past  many  an 
historic  landmark  of  interest. 


XIV 

ANGERS 


LE  CHEVAL  BLANC,  ANGERS,  September  13th. 

WE  were  glad  to  have  our  first  view  of 
Angers  by  daylight,  as  the  dark  slate  roofs  and 
the  great  black  chateau  in  the  old  part  of  the 
town,  made  us  understand  what  Shakespeare 
meant  when  he  wrote  of  "black  Angiers."  The 
towns,  old  and  new,  had  their  full  share  of 
sunshine  to-day  and  of  a  warmth  that  would 
have  been  oppressive  had  it  not  been  tempered 
by  a  fresh  breeze  from  the  River  Maine  that 
flows  by  the  chateau,  for  here  we  quitted  our 
Loire,  for  a  while,  a  river  with  a  distinct  in- 
dividuality which  we  have  come  to  love  like 
the  face  of  a  friend.  A  little  below  Angers, 
the  Loire  and  the  Maine  unite,  and  in  the  land 
lying  between  these  rivers  is  the  richest  agri- 
cultural region  in  all  France,  its  nurseries  and 
kitchen  gardens  having  made  a  fortune  for  this 
little  corner  of  the  world. 

The  town  of  Angers,  which  is  a  place  of 

319 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


some  consequence,  being  the  capital  of  the  De- 
partement  de  Maine  et  Loire,  is  situated  upon 
a  height  crowned  by  the  slim  spires  of  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  Maurice.  On  a  first  view,  we 
must  admit  that  Angers  is  disappointingly 
modern,  with  its  straight,  wide  boulevards  and 
regular  rows  of  trees ;  but  to-day  we  have  spent 
most  of  our  time  in  the  old  town  which  has 
not  been  despoiled  of  its  ancient  charm.  And 
here  in  this  inn,  the  Cheval  Blanc,  which  has 
opened  its  hospitable  doors  since  1514,  we  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  antiquity  surrounded  by 
modern  comforts.  The  Eue  St.  Aubin,  upon 
which  our  hostel  is  situated,  is  so  narrow  that 
Lydia  says  she  is  tempted  to  shake  hands  with 
the  little  dressmaker  who  is  sewing  away  busily 
at  a  window  across  the  street,  and  she  doubtless 
hears  everything  that  we  say,  and  looks  politely 
interested  in  our  remarks  although  she  prob- 
ably cannot  understand  a  word  of  English.  As 
we  see  her  there,  looking  up  from  her  sewing, 
from  time  to  time,  neat  and  dainty,  her  black 
hair  dressed  to  perfection,  a  pathetic  expres- 
sion in  the  dark  eyes  with  which  she  regards 
us  from  time  to  time,  we  think  of  Marie  Claire, 
and  wonder  if  this  little  seamstress  has  not 


ANGERS 


a  story  of  her  own  to  tell,  and  one  which  like  the 
story  of  that  other  sewing  girl,  would  touch 
the  heart  because  of  its  perfect  simplicity. 

This  hotel  is  so  unpretentious,  in  its  style 
and  furnishings,  that  we  are  more  than  sur- 
prised at  its  comfort.  Miss  Cassandra  says 
that  she  has  never  in  her  life  seen  floors 
scrubbed  to  such  immaculate  whiteness,  and  we 
know  that  Quakers  know  all  about  cleanliness. 
The  service  which  the  men  chambermaids  give 
us  is  exceptionally  good  and  quite  discouraging 
to  Miss  Cassandra  and  myself  who  have  always 
persistently  upheld  the  superiority  of  our  sex. 
It  is  like  my  uncle's  bachelor  housekeeping,  a 
little  too  good  to  be  gratifying  to  our  woman's 
pride.  Everything  runs  so  smoothly  here,  like 
magic,  under  these  ministering  angels  of  the 
male  sex,  in  their  white  shirts,  red  waistcoats 
and  green  aprons.  We  really  don't  know  what 
to  call  them,  although  the  one  who  attends  to 
my  room  informed  me  quite  frankly  that  he 
was  the  femme  de  chambre.  This  was,  I  think, 
in  order  to  avoid  confusion  with  regard  to  fees ; 
the  double  service  of  waiter  and  valet  de 
chambre  entitling  him  to  a  particularly  gener- 
ous douceur. 

21  321 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


One  expects  good  meals  in  all  of  these 
French  inns,  and  at  the  Cheval  Blanc  they  are 
as  good  as  the  best  and  served  in  a  cool,  quiet 
dining-room,  between  the  front  courtyard  with 
its  palms  and  pleasant  lounging  places  and  the 
rear  court,  around  which  are  the  kitchens,  the 
garage  and  the  offices  generally.  Good  as  we 
find  the  cuisine,  what  most  delights  us  is  the 
fruit.  We  have  been  in  great  fruit-growing 
countries  before,  as  at  Canterbury,  where  we 
had  no  evidence  of  the  excellence  and  profusion 
of  the  fruit  on  the  table  d'hote;  but  here  each 
meal  is  crowned  with  a  great  dish  of  plums, 
peaches,  grapes  and  pears.  Beautiful  and  de- 
licious as  they  all  are,  the  pears  are  supreme, 
as  the  Italians  say,  in  size  and  flavor.  We  are 
feasting  upon  fat  things  in  this  land  of  plenty, 
as  we  have  seen  nothing  to  compare  with  the 
fruit  of  Angiers  in  Touraine  or  elsewhere.  M. 
La  Tour  made  no  mistake  when  he  conducted  us 
to  the  Cheval  Blanc,  where  he  himself  was  re- 
ceived with  warm  friendliness  as  well  as  with 
great  respect  by  the  proprietor.  Shining  in  his 
reflected  light,  we  are  treated  as  if  we  belonged 
to  the  royal  family,  or  to  the  President's 
family,  which  is  the  popular  thing  in  the  France 

322 


ANGERS 


of  to-day.  In  view  of  our  French  friend's 
many  kind  attentions  and  charming  good  na- 
ture, Archie  has  overcome  his  racial  prejudices 
sufficiently  to  say: 

"Zelphine,  that  French  friend  of  yours  is 
really  no  end  of  a  good  fellow. ' ' 

''Why  my  friend?"  I  ask.  "M.  La  Tour  is 
the  friend  of  us  all.  Walter  is  devoted  to  him, 
and  he  is  Lydia 's  'Handy  Book  of  Reference/ 
as  you  know. ' '  This  last  was  distinctly  cruel ; 
but  Archie,  instead  of  retaliating,  answered 
quite  amiably: 

"Yes,  he  is  a  good  fellow,  with  no  superior 
foreign  airs  about  him." 

Walter  says  that  it  is  only  fair  that  Archie 
should  admit  this  much  of  his  rival,  after  carry- 
ing Lydia  off  under  his  very  eyes  at  Chinon, 
which,  he  says,  is  prophetic  of  coming  events. 
I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  feel  as  sure  of  the 
outcome  as  Walter.  Lydia  is  the  most  self- 
contained  young  person  that  I  have  ever  en- 
countered. 

By  the  way,  we  decided,  after  our  arrival 
yesterday,  that  we  could  not  possibly  do  jus- 
tice to  Angers  in  the  short  half  day  that  wr 
had  allowed  ourselves.  We  telegraphed  fr 

323 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Angela  that  we  really  could  not  meet  her  in 
Paris  until  Wednesday  night.  Even  if  the 
Dudleys  leave  to-day,  she  will  have  only  one 
night  by  herself,  and  with  her  usual  good  luck 
she  will  probably  meet  some  friends  in  the 
hotel. 

Again  we  echo  the  sentiments  of  Maitre 
Frangois,  and  saying  * '  There  is  nothing  so  dear 
and  precious  as  time,"  rejoice  in  this  one  long, 
golden  day  in  Angers.  I  am  writing  after  our 
second  dejeuner.  We  have  all  spent  the  morn- 
ing in  the  most  strenuous  sightseeing,  going  to 
the  cathedral  first,  which  is  quite  near,  its  apse 
blocking  the  street  on  which  the  Cheval  Blanc 
stands.  From  the  west  front  of  the  cathedral, 
which  is  very  narrow  in  proportion  to  its 
height,  the  ground  suddenly  descends  to  the 
river,  a  long,  broad  flight  of  steps  taking  the 
place  of  a  street.  There  are,  on  the  fac.ade, 
some  fine  carvings  of  armed  warriors ;  but  the 
side  walls  are  flat  and  plain,  solid  masonry 
replacing  the  flying  buttresses  which  lighten 
most  of  the  French  churches.  This  last  feature 
we  find  to  be  characteristic  of  Angevin 
churches,  as  are  two  other  characteristics  which 
impressed  us  as  we  entered  the  cathedral.  One 

324 


ANGERS 


of  these  is  the  absence  of  aisles  in  the  nave,  and 
a  consequent  sense  of  light  and  spaciousness; 
the  other,  the  small  dome-like  roof  into  which 
the  vaulting  of  each  section  of  the  nave  rises. 
There  are  some  curious  old  tapestries  hung 
on  the  walls  of  the  nave,  a  handsome  carved 
pulpit  and  some  fine  glass  of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries.  In  the  chapel  to  the  left 
is  a  Calvary  by  David  d  'Angers,  a  sculptor  not 
without  honor  in  his  native  town.  The  chief 
object  of  interest  in  the  cathedral  is  the  tomb 
of  King  Rene  and  his  wife,  which  was  dis- 
covered beneath  the  choir  only  about  fifteen 
years  ago. 

On  our  way  to  the  chateau,  on  a  broad  open 
space  at  the  intersection  of  two  'boulevards 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  treeless  expanse,  stands 
a  statue  of  the  mild,  poetic  sovereign  of  Anjou 
by  David  d' Angers.  This  bronze  statue  is  on  a 
high,  light-colored  stone  foundation,  and  shows 
him  no  more  kingly  and  rather  less  amiable 
than  history,  which  has  always  surrounded 
Rene  d' Anjou  with  the  sympathetic  charm  that 
belongs  to  a  king  in  exile.  Around  the  base 
of  the  monument  are  smaller  statues  represent- 
ing such  founders  and  leaders  of  his  house  as 

325 


CHATEAU  LAKD 


Dumnacus,  defender  of  the  Angevins,  Foulques 
Nera,  Eobert  the  Strong  and  Henry  Plantag- 
enet.  Here  also  are  statues  of  Eene's  two  wives, 
Isabelle  de  Lorraine  and  Jeanne  de  Laval,  and 
of  his  daughter  Margaret,  Queen  of  England. 
This  monument  naturally  carried  our  thoughts 
back  to  the  days  when  the  valor  of  Anjou's 
counts,  and  their  connection  with  the  thrones 
of  England  and  Sicily,  gave  this  land  an  im- 
portance far  beyond  its  natural  value. 

King  Eene  himself,  with  his  three  titles, 
Count  of  Anjou,  King  of  Sicily  and  Duke  of 
Provence,  seems  to  have  been  born  to  misfor- 
tune as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  Had  he  been 
endowed  with  the  spirit  and  courage  of  his 
daughter  Margaret,  Eene  might  have  been  able 
to  cope  with  his  enemies ;  but  being  of  a  gentle 
and  reflective  nature,  he  yielded  to  what  he 
deemed  his  fate.  One  possession  after  another 
was  wrested  from  him,  and  he  finally  retired 
to  Aix  in  Provence,  where  he  devoted  himself 
to  literature  and  the  fine  arts,  or,  as  Miss  Cas- 
sandra expresses  it,  "He  amused  himself  by 
writing  verses  and  pottering  about  his  garden. 
And  a  very  much  more  respectable  way  of 
spending  his  time,  it  was,  than  quarreling  with 


ANGERS 

his  neighbors,  which  was  the  chief  occupation 
of  Louis  XI  and  most  of  the  other  kings  of 
that  period!" 

We  afterwards  saw  the  noble  statue  of 
Margaret  of  Anjou,  a  regal  figure,  wearing  the 
crown  and  bearing  the  sceptre  of  which  she  was 
so  soon  deprived  by  Edward  IV.  When  she 
went  to  England,  as  the  bride  of  Henry  VI, 
she  was  received  with  rejoicings  and  the  Lon- 
don streets  were  decorated  with  the  Marguerite 
flower  in  her  honor.  No  man,  it  was  said,  sur- 
passed Margaret  in  courage,  and  no  woman  in 
beauty,  and  it  might  well  be  added  that  none 
of  the  princesses  who  had  left  France  to  share 
the  British  throne  had  to  endure  such  mis- 
fortunes. Her  son  was  captured  and  slaugh- 
tered under  her  eyes ;  then  and  then  only,  the 
strong  purpose  and  high  courage,  that  had  sup- 
ported her  during  years  of  adversity,  deserted 
her.  She  lost  heart.  After  being  dragged 
from  prison  to  prison,  Margaret  was  restored 
to  her  country  and  her  family,  upon  which  King 
Rene,  being  more  of  a  poet  than  a  king,  wrote  a 
madrigal  to  celebrate  his  daughter's  sad  home- 
coming. 

The  castle,  which  is  across  the  way  from 

327 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Rene's  statue,  dates  back  to  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, when  English  and  French  were  disputing 
over  the  ownership  of  Anjou.  Standing  on  a 
hillside  above  the  Maine,  this  chateau,  with  its 
massive  stone  walls  and  heavy  drawbridge, 
suggests  brute  force  more  completely  than  any 
of  the  other  castles  that  we  have  seen.  As  we 
passed  through  the  dungeons  at  Loches,  we 
shuddered  at  the  cruelty  which  they  represent ; 
as  we  looked  at  the  bare  black  walls  of  this 
castle,  we  were  even  more  appalled  by  the  dread 
relentless  strength  against  which  enemy  after 
enemy  battered  himself  in  vain. 

The  castle  was  built  on  the  hill,  as  it  sloped 
up  from  the  Maine,  and  originally  stood  at  the 
lower  corner  of  the  city  ramparts.  Broad 
quays  have  taken  the  place  of  the  outer  fortifi- 
cations on  the  river  bank,  and  most  of  the 
moat  has  been  filled  in  to  make  boulevards, 
but  between  the  quay  and  the  river  front  of 
the  castle  a  crumbling  mass  of  crazy  old  houses 
still  cluster  around  the  castle,  as  if  to  remind 
us  of  the  days  when  the  thick  walls  behind 
them  meant  safety.  The  seventeen  round 
towers  and  the  battlements  have  all  been  torn 
down,  leaving  only  the  slate-built  walls,  striped 


ANGERS 


near  the  top  with  horizontal  panels  of  a  lighter 
stone,  and  still  so  high  that  they  look  like 
precipices.  We  entered  by  a  heavy  drawbridge 
and  under  a  massive  arch,  and  were  duly 
shown  around  by  the  guide,  a  man  this  time, 
whom  we  found  far  less  interesting  than  the 
women  who  have  conducted  us  through  most  of 
the  other  chateaux.  He  did,  however,  give  us 
some  interesting  associations  with  the  Chateau 
of  Angers,  as  he  reminded  us  that  Henry  IV 
was  here  in  1598  with  la  belle  Gabrielle,  and 
their  little  son,  "C&sar  Monsieur."  Henry 
seems  to  have  come  to  Angers  to  reduce  Brit- 
tany to  subjection,  and  to  punish  the  rebellious 
Duke  de  Mercceur.  The  latter,  however,  by  a 
fine  stroke  of  policy,  sent  his  wife  and  her 
mother  to  Angers  to  make  his  submission  to  the 
King  and  to  propose  an  alliance  between  his 
daughter,  who  was  his  sole  heiress,  and  the 
little  CsBsar.  An  interview  with  Henry  took 
place  here,  in  the  chateau,  we  were  told.  "With 
two  noble  dames  in  tears,  on  their  knees  before 
him,  and  his  own  fair  duchess  quite  on  their 
side,  the  King  could  refuse  nothing,  and  ac- 
cordingly his  son,  aged  four,  was  betrothed  to 
Frangoise  de  Lorraine,  who  was  in  her  sixth 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


year  and  with  no  less  magnificence  than  if  the 
little  Caesar  had  been  the  legitimate  heir  to  the 
throne  of  France.  Dancing  and  rejoicing  took 
the  place  of  the  fighting  and  bloodshed  to  which 
the  old  castle  had  been  much  more  accustomed. 

We  are  glad  to  turn  from  the  stormy  re- 
vengeful counts  of  Anjou  and  kings  of  England 
to  the  reign  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  that  heroic 
figure  whom  we  still  love  whatever  his  short- 
comings may  have  been.  His  faults  and  fail- 
ings were  those  of  his  time;  his  virtues,  his 
sense  of  justice,  his  large  benevolence  and  de- 
sire to  give  every  man  a  chance,  and  his  broad 
constructive  policy,  were  far  in  advance  of  his 
age.  He  doubtless  inherited  his  noble  traits 
from  his  mother,  Jeanne  D 'Albert,  while  from 
the  less  distinguished  paternal  side  may  have 
come  the  traits  that  marred  the  character  of  the 
great  Huguenot  leader. 

Miss  Cassandra  can  never  quite  forgive 
Henry  for  his  abjuration,  and  says  that  to 
have  renounced  the  religion  for  which  they  had 
both  sacrificed  so  much  was  unworthy  the  son 
of  so  great  a  mother.  Member  of  the  Peace 
Society  as  she  is,  our  Quaker  lady  will  make 
no  excuses  for  Henry,  although  M.  La  Tour 

330 


ANGERS 


insists  it  was  a  wise  and  humane  act  on  the 
part  of  the  King,  as  it  put  an  end  to  the  long 
war  that  was  devastating  France,  or,  to  use 
Henry's  own  forcible  phrasing,  "By  my  faith, 
I  have  no  wish  to  reign  over  a  kingdom  of  dead 
men. ' '  The  favorite  expletive  of  the  Bearnois, 
"Ventre  Saint  Gris,"  seems  to  have  gone  out 
of  favor  after  he  became  a  Catholic,  having 
fallen  into  bad  repute,  as  it  was  considered  a 
Protestant  oath.  There  is  little  doubt  that 
the  traditions  of  his  early  years  had  great  in- 
fluence over  him,  and  that  Henry  of  Navarre 
was  always  at  heart  a  Protestant. 

Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  to  whom  Henry  IV  was 
far  more  devoted  and  more  faithful  than  to 
any  other  woman,  had  almost  unbounded  in- 
fluence over  him,  which  she  generally  used 
with  wisdom  and  moderation.  Affectionate, 
intelligent,  and  good  tempered,  she  seemed  an 
ideal  companion  for  the  generous,  impetuous 
and  often  ill-governed  monarch.  Henry  was 
himself  wont  to  say  that  he  loved  her  far 
more  for  her  noble  qualities  of  mind  and  heart 
than  for  her  dazzling  beauty.  That  the  King 
consulted  Gabrielle  upon  more  than  one 
occasion  is  evident,  and  equally  so  that  she 

331 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


did  not  hesitate  to  express  her  opinion  frankly. 
After  the  King's  famous  speech  at  the  Abbey 
of  St.  Ouen,  when  he  besought  his  noble  sub- 
jects to  counsel  him  and  generously  invited 
them  to  share  with  him  whatever  glory  should 
fall  to  his  share,  Gabrielle,  then  Marquise  de 
Monceaux,  was  present,  secluded  from  the  gen- 
eral gaze  by  a  screen  or  curtain.  Later,  when 
questioned  by  Henry  as  to  how  she  liked  his 
speech,  she  replied  that  she  had  rarely  heard 
him  speak  better;  but  that  she  was  indeed 
surprised  at  his  asking  for  counsel  and  offer- 
ing to  place  himself  en  tutelle  in  the  hands  of 
the  assembly. 

"Ventre  Saint  Gris!"  exclaimed  the  Bear- 
nois,  "That  is  true;  but  as  I  understand  it, 
in  tutelage,  with  my  sword  by  my  side." 

Gabrielle 's  womanly  pride  was  doubtless 
satisfied  with  this  quick-witted  rejoinder  of  her 
royal  lover,  who  never  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss 
for  an  argument  or  a  bon  mot.  As  Dumas  says 
of  his  beloved  hero,  "In  default  of  money, 
something  to  which  the  Bearnois  was  accus- 
tomed all  his  life,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  paying 
his  debts  with  that  which  he  never  stood  in 
need  of  borrowing,  a  ready  wit." 

332 


ANGERS 


The  only  influence  that  the  great  minister 
Sully  feared  was  that  of  Gabrielle,  whom  the 
King  had  promised  to  marry  when  the  tie  that 
bound  him  to  his  beautiful,  wilful,  dissolute 
cousin,  Marguerite  of  Valois,  should  be 
annulled  by  the  Pope.  Sully,  however,  had 
other  ambitions  for  Henry  and  for  France,  as 
he  was  already  entering  into  negotiations  with 
the  Medici  with  a  view  to  a  marriage  with  a 
daughter  of  their  house,  which  would  swell  the 
depleted  coffers  of  France  and  bring  some 
coveted  territory  to  the  kingdom. 

Here  in  the  old  chateau  at  Angers,  the 
scene  of  Gabrielle 's  most  signal  triumph  over 
the  favorite  minister,  during  whose  absence  her 
son  was  created  Duke  of  Vendome  and  affianced 
to  the  little  heiress  of  the  Duke  of  Mercceur, 
we  could  not  help  wondering  whether  Henry 
of  Navarre 's  life  would  not  have  been  very  dif- 
ferent had  he  been  allowed  to  marry  the  woman 
of  his  choice.  As  the  daughter  of  the  Baron 
d'Estrees,  and  connected  with  royalty  through 
the  Courtenays,  it  seemed  to  us  that  Gabrielle 
was  quite  as  suitable  a  consort  for  the  French 
King  as  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  Medici 
who  had  never  brought  good  fortune  to  France. 

333 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Sully,  who  evidently  thought  more  of  the  cof- 
fers of  the  kingdom  than  of  the  happiness  of 
the  King,  was  the  persistent  enemy  of  Gabrielle 
from  the  early  days  when  Henry  incurred  un- 
told dangers  in  passing  the  enemy's  lines  in 
order  to  secure  a  brief  half  hour  with  her,  to 
a  later  time  when  as  Duchesse  de  Beaufort 
she  seemed  to  be  perilously  near  the  throne. 
The  tragedy  of  her  sudden  death,  which  has 
been  attributed  to  poison  at  the  instance  of 
Sully,  and  the  King's  agony  of  grief  have  added 
a  pathetic  interest  to  the  history  of  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees,  Duchesse  de  Beaufort. 

It  should  be  said,  in  justice  to  Sully,  that 
there  is  no  proof  that  he  had  anything  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  death  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Beaufort;  but  there  is  little  doubt  that  the 
tidings  of  her  death  brought  relief  to  his  mind, 
after  the  first  shock  was  over. 

The  Chateau  of  Angers  is  bare  and  un- 
adorned, with  nothing  to  remind  us  of  the 
ceremonies  and  festivities  that  so  annoyed 
Sully  in  the  far  away  time  when  Henry  of 
Navarre  and  the  charming  Gabrielle  held  high 
festival  here.  After  its  days  of  fighting  and 
feasting  were  well  over,  the  castle  was  used 

334 


ANGERS 


as  a  prison.  Now,  with  the  thrift  for  which 
the  French  are  proverbial,  this  substantial 
building  is  used  as  a  depot  for  military  stores. 
The  only  things  suggestive  of  the  gentler  side 
of  life  are  the  little  chapel,  and  the  castle  within 
the  castle,  a  small  Eenaissance  house  in  which 
the  family  of  the  prince  lived  in  times  of  siege. 
The  walk  around  the  top  of  the  walls  is  well 
worth  taking,  not  only  because  it  intensifies  the 
impression  of  size  and  strength,  but  also  be- 
cause it  gives  a  charming  view  of  the  country 
round  about.  In  front  the  Maine  flows  calmly 
by  to  its  junction  with  the  Loire  three  or  four 
miles  to  the  left;  across  the  river  there  is  an 
old  suburb  of  the  town  with  a  few  good 
churches  and  old  houses,  and  farther  upstream 
near  the  river's  edge,  stands  what  Walter 
calls  "a  business-like  looking  old  tower"  which 
he  thinks  must  have  guarded  a  bridge  con- 
nected with  the  ramparts.  To  the  right  the 
cathedral  looms  up,  its  clumsy  base  hidden  by 
other  buildings  and  its  slender  spires  dominat- 
ing the  town.  Beyond  the  town  stretch  rich, 
green  fields,  with  an  occasional  old  windmill 
flapping  its  arms  and  a  slow  boat  drifting  lazily 
down  the  river. 

335 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Even  if  Angers  has  never  been  one  of  the 
most  important  cities  of  France,  it  seems 
always  to  have  been  a  place  of  moderate  con- 
sequence, as  it  still  is.  There  are  a  few  good 
private  houses  dating  several  centuries  back, 
the  most  pretentious  of  these  being  the  Hotel 
de  Pince,  a  charming  Eenaissance  building, 
standing  in  the  heart  of  the  town  and  now 
used  as  a  museum  of  antiquities  and  objets 
d'art.  There  was  no  guide  to  tell  us  the  his- 
tory of  this  house  and  the  books  are  equally 
reticent  about  its  traditions.  The  Hotel  de 
Pince  looks  like  a  charming  miniature  chateau, 
suggesting  Azay-le-Eideau  or  some  of  the 
Eenaissance  houses  in  Tours,  in  its  general 
style,  and  like  them  it  makes  one  feel  that  the 
builders  of  those  days  understood  elegance  and 
beauty  better  than  they  did  comfort  and  ease. 
Whatever  king  or  noble  or  knight-at-arms  lived 
in  this  house,  his  women-folk  had  to  drag  their 
brocaded  trains  up  and  down  steep  twisting 
stone  staircases,  and  also  to  be  content  with 
very  little  light  and  air  in  many  of  their  ele- 
gant rooms.  The  rich  Angevin  bourgeoisie 
built  these  half-timbered  houses,  which  are 
somewhat  like  those  that  one  sees  so  often  in 

338 


ANGERS 


Normandy.  One  of  the  most  elaborate  of  these 
is  the  so-called  Maison  d'Adam,  just  behind  the 
cathedral,  which,  although  it  does  not  date  back 
to  our  first  ancestor,  is  sufficiently  ancient  in 
appearance  to  satisfy  our  antiquarian  tastes. 
Much  of  the  carving  on  the  uprights  is  elaborate 
and  effective,  even  if  bearing  evidences  of  fre- 
quent restorations.  The  most  noticeable  thing 
about  this  building  is  its  height,  as  houses  of  six 
stories  were  not  usual  in  the  days  of  the 
Renaissance  in  France. 

So  little  is  done  for  Angers  by  local  guide 
books  that  the  joy  of  discovery  adds  a  zest  to 
our  pleasure  in  this  old  town,  and,  although 
Archie  is  usually  the  least  enthusiastic  of  sight- 
seers, he  has  never  been  bored  once  to-day. 
Perhaps  Lydia's  presence  and  delight  in  it 
all  has  something  to  do  with  his  contented 
frame  of  mind.  However  that  may  be,  he  has 
listened  with  polite  attention  to  M.  La  Tour's 
long  disquisitions,  architectural  as  well  as  his- 
torical, and  in  return  has  asked  him  many 
questions  about  the  products  and  industries 
of  this  prosperous  town.  It  seems  that  the 
extensive  slate  quarries  have  not  only  roofed 
and  housed  a  great  part  of  Angers,  but  have 

22  837 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


added  considerably  to  its  revenue.  Archie  is 
in  a  merry  mood  to-day  and  after  M.  La  Tour's 
disquisition  upon  these  extensive  slate  quarries, 
he  asked  Lydia  if  she  did  not  think  that  King 
Rene  must  have  missed  his  slate  when  he  was 
scribbling  verses  in  the  south.  We  all  laughed 
heartily  over  this  very  slight  bon  mot;  but  our 
Frenchman  looked  dreadfully  puzzled  and 
asked  to  have  it  explained  to  him.  He  proved 
even  more  difficult  than  Sydney  Smith's 
Scotchman;  or,  as  Walter  expresses  it,  "It  had 
to  be  driven  in  with  a  sledge  hammer,"  and  he 
warns  Archie  solemnly  to  attempt  no  more 
pleasantries  in  the  presence  of  our  Gallo- 
American,  guide,  philosopher  and  friend. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  Cheval  Blanc,  we 
stopped  at  the  Prefecture  whose  superbly 
carved  arches  and  columns  are  said  to  date 
back  to  the  Roman  occupation.  While  we  were 
enjoying  these  noble  arches  and  rich  carvings, 
M.  La  Tour  told  us  that  Julius  Caesar  and  one 
hundred  thousand  of  his  troops  were  encamped 
upon  the  triangle  upon  a  part  of  which  Angers 
is  now  situated.  Here  they  lived  for  months 
on  the  resources  of  this  somewhat  restricted 
area,  which  does  not  seem  at  all  wonderful 

338 


ANGERS 


if  the  soil  was  cultivated  in  those  days  as  it 
is  now;  and  how  those  soldiers  must  have 
enjoyed  the  rich  vintage  of  Anjou! — to  say 
nothing  of  the  choux-fleurs,  artichokes,  peas, 
and  the  various  fruits  which  are  now  shipped 
in  carloads  to  Paris  every  night. 

The  idea  of  a  Roman  camp  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Angers  appealed  strongly  to  our 
antiquarians,  and  while  we  were  at  luncheon 
Archie,  after  politely  inquiring  what  we  pro- 
posed to  do  with  our  long  afternoon,  and  find- 
ing that  we  had  no  plans  except  to  visit  some 
place  of  interest  in  the  motor  car,  presented 
a  well  arranged  programme.  "Wfoat  Archie 
suggested,  evidently  after  collusion  with  Walter 
and  the  chauffeur,  was  to  motor  to  Nantes, 
stopping  en  route  at  the  Roman  camp,  if  indeed 
its  site  can  be  found. 

Lydia  and  I  would  have  shouted  for  joy 
had  there  not  been  other  guests  in  the  salle 
a  manger.  As  it  was  we  contented  ourselves 
with  congratulating  Archie  upon  his  fertility 
of  resource,  adding  that  we  had  been  longing  to 
see  Nantes,  with  its  fortress-chateau  and  the 
tomb  of  Frangois,  the  father  of  our  old  friend, 
Anne  de  Bretagne. 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


Upon  this  Miss  Cassandra  waked  up  from  a 
little  nap  she  had  been  taking  between  courses, 
and  expressed  her  delight  at  the  thought  of 
seeing  Nantes  in  whose  ancient  chateau  her 
favorite  Anne  was  married  to  Louis  XII. 
"Not,"  she  added,  "that  I  approve  of  that 
marriage,  it  is  the  one  sad  blot  upon  Anne's 
otherwise  fine  character  that  she  was  willing  to 
marry  Louis  after  he  had  divorced  poor 
Jeanne." 

"I  must  warn  you,  before  we  set  forth," 
said  Archie,  raising  his  finger  admonishingly, 
"that  this  is  to  be  an  afternoon  in  the  open; 
the  chauffeur  tells  me  that  we  shall  have  barely 
time  to  see  the  surroundings  of  Nantes,  to  get 
a  general  view  of  the  town,  and  return  to 
Angers  in  time  for  a  late  dinner." 

"Of  course  we  shall  stop  at  the  Roman 
camp, ' '  said  Lydia,  tactfully,  looking  at  Archie 
as  she  spoke.  "It  would  never  do  to  miss  that, 
and  I  plead  for  twenty  minutes  or  a  half  hour 
at  the  cathedral  to  see  the  tomb  of  Francois, 
and  the  gold  box  in  which  the  heart  of  the 
Duchess  Anne  was  sent  back  to  Brittany." 

"You  shall  have  your  half  hour  at   the 
cathedral,  Miss  Mott,"  said  Archie  gallantly, 
"even  if  we  don't  get  home  'till  morning." 
NO 


ANGERS 


"'Till  daylight  doth  appear,"  sang  Walter 
as  he  went  out  to  tell  the  chauffeur  to  be  ready 
for  an  early  start. 

M.  La  Tour  looked  his  surprise,  he  had 
never  seen  us  in  quite  so  merry  a  mood.  There 
is  something  exhilarating  in  the  air  here,  which 
is  crisp  and  fresh,  almost  like  that  of  October 
at  home,  and  we  were  further  stimulated  by  the 
thought  of  doing  something  as  unexpected  as  it 
was  delightful. 

We  set  forth  promptly,  a  gay  party,  the 
three  women  folk  upon  the  back  seat,  M.  La 
Tour  and  Archie  vis  a  vis,  and  Walter  with 
the  chauffeur  in  front.  A  nice  intelligent  young 
fellow  is  this  chauffeur,  with  whom  Walter  has 
become  so  intimate  that  he  seems  to  be  able 
to  converse  with  him  without  any  apparent 
language.  His  name  is  Frangois  and  Walter 
has,  in  some  way,  fathomed  the  secrets  of  his 
soul  and  tells  us  that  he  is  the  fiance  of  the 
pretty  black  eyed  Eloisa  who  showed  us  around 
the  chateau  of  Langeais.  The  confidence  came 
about  in  this  wise,  Frangois  asked  us  if  we  had 
seen  Langeais,  a  very  noble  chateau,  and  did  the 
little  gardienne,  the  pretty,  dark-eyed  one,  take 
us  about  ?  Yes !  that  is  the  one  he  knows,  they 
both  belong  to  the  country  around  Tours,  than 

341 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


which  there  is  nothing  finer  in  the  known  world. 
Although  living  at  Blois,  for  financial  reasons, 
he  hopes  to  go  back  to  that  garden  spot  of 
France  and  there  to  end  his  days.  After  which 
Walter,  by  means  of  gestures  and  signs,  ex- 
tracted the  story  of  his  love.  We  did  not  feel 
it  incumbent  upon  us  to  reveal  to  Francois  the 
sad  fact  that  Eloisa  was  flirting  quite  openly 
with  one  of  the  red-legged  upholders  of  the 
military  glory  of  France,  when  we  saw  her  at 
Langeais. 

"That  was  doubtless  an  innocent  diversion 
to  which  she  resorted,  in  order  to  pass  away  the 
time  during  her  lover's  absence,"  Archie  re- 
marked, with  a  fine  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone, 
for  at  this  moment  Lydia,  who  is  wearing  some 
forget-me-nots  that  were  beside  her  plate  this 
morning,  is  having  a  very  animated  conversa- 
tion with  M.  La  Tour. 

Lydia  is  very  charming  in  a  blue  linen  suit, 
the  tang  of  salt  in  the  air,  which  is  quite  evi- 
dent here,  has  given  her  a  brilliant  color,  and 
every  stray  lock  of  her  golden  brown  (hair 
has  curled  up  into  bewildering  little  ringlets.  I 
don't  wonder  that  Archie  resents  the  forget- 
me-nots.  "Where  the  deuce  does  the  fellow 

342 


ANGERS 

get  them?"  he  asked  me  this  morning.  "Fran- 
c.ois  and  I  have  been  looking  all  about  the 
town  before  breakfast  and  we  can't  even  find 
a  bunch  of  pansies." 

Pansies  would  be  a  good  offset  to  forget- 
meTnots ;  but  as  only  sweet  peas  and  roses  were 
to  be  found,  Archie  scorned  to  bestow  these 
which  grow  in  such  abundance,  and  so  con- 
tented himself  with  a  beautiful  basket  of  fruit 
which  we  all  enjoyed. 

I  need  not  tell  you,  after  our  experience 
with  Roman  camps,  that  there  was  little  to  be 
seen  upon  the  site  of  this  one  of  Angers;  but 
we  were  interested  in  the  glimpse  that  we  had, 
in  passing  through  Ancenis,  of  its  ancient 
chateau  with  its  tower-flanked  doorway,  the 
work  of  an  Angevin  architect.  Within  this 
chateau,  M.  La  Tour  tells  us,  an  important 
treaty  was  signed  by  Frangois  II  of  Brittany 
and  Louis  XL 

As  we  drew  near  Nantes  the  strong  salt  air 
blowing  in  our  faces  made  us  realize  that  we 
were  near  the  sea.  Nantes  and  St.  Nazaire, 
which  is  a  little  north  and  west  of  Nantes,  are 
among  the  great  sea  ports  of  the  world.  And 
here  we  find  ourselves  again  in  the  Dumas 

343 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


country,  for  it  was  along  the  part  of  the  Loire 
that  we  have  seen  to-day  that  Fouquet  fled 
pursued  relentlessly  by  Colbert.  If  only 
Fouquet  could  have  reached  Nantes  and  his 
own  Belle  He,  out  beyond  St.  Nazaire,  a  differ- 
ent fate  might  have  been  his.  We  follow  again 
in  imagination,  with  almost  breathless  interest, 
that  close  pursuit,  of  one  boat  by  the  other, 
until  we  suddenly  find  ourselves  winding 
through  the  streets  of  a  town  and  know  that 
we  are  in  Queen  Anne's  city  of  Nantes,  that 
also  of  the  monk  Abelard  and  of  the  famous 
warrior  surnamed  "Bras  de  Fer." 

Gazing  upon  the  redoubtable  Chateau  of 
Nantes  with  its  six  towers,  its  bastions  and  its 
wide  and  deep  moat,  into  which  the  sea  poured 
its  rising  tide  twice  each  day,  we  could  under- 
stand Henri  Quatre  saying,  as  he  stood  before 
it,  "Ventre  Saint  Gris!  the  Dukes  of  Brittany 
were  not  men  to  be  trifled  with ! "  It  was  into 
the  dungeon  of  this  chateau  that  Fouquet  was 
first  thrown,  and  here  Mazarin  had  Henri  de 
Gondi  imprisoned,  and  from  whence,  as  M.  La 
Tour  tells  us,  he  escaped  over  the  side  of  the 
Bastion  de  Mercoeur,  by  means  of  a  rope 
smuggled  into  the  prison  by  his  friends.  There 

344 


ANGERS 


are  no  end  of  interesting  associations  con- 
nected with  Nantes,  of  which  not  the  least  im- 
portant is  that  Henry  of  Navarre  here  signed 
the  Edict  of  Nantes,  the  Huguenot  charter  of 
liberties. 

We  needed  a  full  day  here,  but  remembering 
our  promise,  we  did  not  even  ask  whether  the 
chateau  was  open  to  visitors,  which  was  really 
very  good  behavior  on  our  part.  We  turned  our 
faces  toward  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Pierre,  and 
spent  there  our  half  hour,  no  more,  no  less. 
Here  over  the  sculptured  figure  of  its  patron 
saint  are  some  lines,  in  old  French,  which  tell 
us  that  this  building  dates  back  to  the  year  1434. 
The  chief  treasure  of  the  cathedral  is  the  beau- 
tiful tomb  of  Francois  II,  and  his  wife  Mar- 
guerite de  Foix,  the  father  and  mother  of  the 
little  Duchess  Anne,  on  which  the  ermine  tails 
are  in  full  feather,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  and 
also  the  hound  and  the  lion  which  are  symbols 
of  this  ancient  house.  The  tomb,  which  is  one  of 
the  masterpieces  of  that  good  artist,  Michel 
Cplombe,  was  brought  here  from  the  old  Eglise 
des  Carmes  which  was  pillaged  and  burned 
during  the  Revolution. 

Although  we  reached  Angers  only  in  time 

345 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


for  a  very  late  dinner,  we  were  inclined  to 
wander  again  to-night.  I  don't  know  just  how 
it  came  about;  Archie  was  out  on  the  terrace 
smoking,  and  when  Lydia  appeared  at  the  door 
he  threw  away  his  cigar  and  joined  her.  As 
they  walked  off  together,  Lydia  turned  back 
and  said,  in  her  sweet,  demure  way: 

"Dr.  Vernon  is  taking  me  to  see  the  ruins 
of  the  Abbey  of  Toussaint  by  moonlight.  Why 
don't  you  and  Mr.  Leonard  come  too?" 

"Oh!  no,  we  don't  spoil  sport;  do  we,  Zel- 
phine?"  said  Walter,  "and  it  seems  to  me,  dear, 
if  my  memory  does  not  fail  me,  that  moonlight 
upon  ruins  has  brought  good  luck  to  your 
matchmaking  schemes  before  this.  Do  you  re- 
member how  Angela  and  the  Doctor  trotted  off 
to  see  the  ruins  at  Exeter  by  moonlight?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  how  could  I  forget  that 
evening?  Poor  dear  Angela  will  be  thinking 
of  us  and  missing  us  to-night." 

"Well,  she  will  only  have  this  one  night 
to  miss  us  and  this  day  in  Angers  has  been 
worth  so  much  to  us." 

"We  have  had  many  delightful  days  on  this 
trip;  but  this  has  been  one  of  the  most  per- 
fect. Why  do  many  of  the  people,  who  do  the 
chateaux  so  conscientiously,  skip  Angers?" 

346 


ANGERS 


"I  hope  that  many  may  continue  to  skip 
it,"  said  Walter,  "tourists  and  trippers  would 
ruin  this  lovely  old  place  and  turn  this  com- 
fortable, homelike  Cheval  Blanc  into  a  great 
noisy  caravansary.  And  now  that  the  lov — 1 
mean,  now  that  your  brother  and  Lydia  have 
had  a  good  start  of  us,  let  us  go  to  see  the 
ruins  of  the  old  Abbey,  Zelphine,"  and  then 
with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye: 

"  Don't  you  think  that  Miss  Cassandra  and 
M.  La  Tour  could  be  persuaded  to  pair  off  and 
go  with  us?" 

Miss  Cassandra  was  just  then  sleeping 
sweetly  in  her  chair;  she  does  not  confess  to 
any  fatigue  after  our  long  motor  trip,  but  she 
must  be  very  tired,  and  M.  La  Tour  is  engaged 
with  some  friends  from  Paris.  Much  as  we 
like  him,  and  indeed  no  one  could  help  liking 
him, — for  this  one  evening  we  are  content  to 
dispense  with  his  kind  attentions. 

The  ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  Tous saint  must 
be  interesting  at  any  time,  reminding  us  of 
those  of  Nettley  and  Jumieges,  with  their  ex- 
quisite carved  arches  and  windows  all  over- 
grown and  draped  with  vines  and  shrubbery, 
but  by  moonlight,  like  fair  Melrose,  they  take 
upon  them  an  added  charm.  We  lingered  long 

347 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


before  the  lovely  carved  window,  through  which 
the  moonlight  streamed  in  silvery  radiance; 
but  we  saw  nothing  of  Archie  and  Lydia.  They 
had  probably  gone  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
Castle  of  Angers  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and 
when  they  returned  to  the  Cheval  Blanc  Miss 
Cassandra  and  I  had  gone  upstairs,  feeling 
that  we  had  indeed  had  a  full  day,  and  that 
the  wanderers  would  probably  be  quite  as 
happy  without  us. 


XV 

ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


ORLEANS,  September  14th. 

WE  set  forth  early  this  morning,  as  we  had 
a  long  day  before  us,  and  as  Walter  warned  us, 
little  time  to  loiter  by  the  way,  great  as  the 
temptation  might  be  to  stop  en  route. 

I  don't  know  that  anything  has  happened, 
but  the  atmosphere  seems  somewhat  electric, 
and  if  anything  has  occurred  I  am  quite  sure 
that  it  is  of  a  cheerful  nature,  as  there  is  a 
telltale  light  in  Archie's  eyes  that  seems  to 
say  when  they  meet  mine:  "I  have  been  sworn 
to  secrecy,  find  out  if  you  can!"  Lydia's  face 
is  inscrutable ;  but  her  color  is  a  little  brighter 
than  usual  and  she  seems  to  avoid  meeting 
my  gaze,  and  drops  her  eyelids  in  a  way  that 
she  has  when  the  sun  is  bright.  Then,  she  is 
beside  me  and  consequently  I  cannot  see  her 
face  as  I  can  Archie's.  Our  places  have  been 
changed  in  the  auto;  Lydia  and  Archie  are 
vis  a  vis  this  morning  and  M.  La  Tour  is 

349 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


opposite  to  me,  but  this  may  be  quite  accidental. 

After  Walter's  solemn  warning  about  the 
shortness  of  time,  I  was  afraid  to  suggest 
stopping  anywhere;  but  Lydia  had  told  me 
that  she  intended,  if  possible,  to  see  the  Chateau 
de  Morains,  near  Saumur,  where  Margaret  of 
Anjou  died.  She  made  her  request  with  some 
hesitation. 

"Of  course  we  can  stop,"  said  Walter,  "it 
won't  take  long,  if  Frangois  knows  the  way." 

Frangois  did  not  know  the  way  to  the  his- 
toric shrine,  which  is  evidently  neglected  by 
English  and  American  pilgrims ;  but  by  making 
inquiries  he  found  it  without  much  trouble. 
We  saw  the  outside  of  the  little  chateau  and 
what  interested  us  especially,  the  inscription 
over  the  gateway  which  relates  that  this  Manoir 
of  Vignole-Souzay,  formerly  Dampierre,  was 
the  refuge  of  the  heroine  of  the  War  of  the 
Roses,  Marguerite  of  Anjou  and  Lancaster, 
Queen  of  England,  the  most  unfortunate  of 
queens,  wives  and  mothers,  who  died  here  the 
25th  of  April,  1482,  aged  fifty-three  years.  This 
little  French  tablet  in  memory  of  the  English 
Queen,  who  was  received  with  such  rejoicings 
in  England  upon  her  marriage  with  Henry  VI, 
seemed  to  us  most  pathetic. 

350 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


As  a  return  for  this  stop  at  Morains,  which 
Walter  considered  a  particular  concession  to 
the  women  of  the  party,  he  suggested  that  we 
take  time  to  stop  at  Villandry  to  see  a  Druid 
stone  which  M.  La  Tour  has  been  telling  him 
about.  You  may  remember  that  he  and  Archie 
are  somewhat  insane  upon  the  subject  of  Dru- 
idical  remains,  but  I  notice  that  Archie  is  not 
as  keenly  interested  in  the  Druids,  this  morn- 
ing, as  usual.  He  and  Lydia  are  talking  over 
some  places  that  they  mean  to  see  in  or  near 
Paris.  Archie  has  been  reading  a  description 
of  Fouquet's  Chateau  of  Vaux-le-Vicomte, 
which  is  only  an  hour's  ride  from  Paris,  near 
Melun.  Wise  in  his  day  and  generation  is  this 
brother  of  mine,  for  nothing  could  so  appeal  to 
Lydia 's  historic  soul  as  just  such  an  expedition 
as  this!  This  was  the  chateau  at  which  the 
great  financier  entertained  the  King  with  such 
magnificence  that  he  aroused  the  jealousy  of 
his  royal  master.  You  remember  Dumas 's 
description  of  it,  and  La  Fontaine's  Songe  de 
Vaux,  in  which  he  says  that  everything  con- 
spired for  the  pleasure  of  the  King,  music, 
fountains,  Moliere's  plays,  in  which  he  was 
praised, — even  the  moon  and  the  stars  seemed 
to  shine  for  him,  on  those  nights  at  Vaux. 

351 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


4 'And  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  of  the 
greenhouses  yielded  up  their  treasures  for 
him,"  said  M.  La  Tour.  "In  his  old  age  Louis 
was  wont  to  say  that  no  peaches  were  equal 
to  those  of  Vaux-le-Vicomte  in  flavor  and 
quality. ' ' 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  he  had  never  tasted 
those  of  Anjou!"  exclaimed  Walter,  and  at  this 
most  opportune  moment  Francois  produced  a 
basket  of  these  same  Anjou  peaches,  and  some 
pears  also,  all  surrounded  by  green  leaves,  as 
only  the  French  know  how  to  set  them  forth. 
We  feasted  on  the  fat  things  of  the  earth,  as 
we  made  our  way  to  Villandry,  where  we  saw 
the  ancient  monument  of  the  Druids,  which  was 
not  much  to  see  after  all.  Walter,  however, 
takes  a  solid  satisfaction  in  visiting  the  things 
that  he  feels  it  is  his  duty  to  see.  The  same 
sort  of  a  rainbow  illuminates  his  horizon  after 
a  duty  of  this  sort  is  performed,  that  irradiates 
our  path  when  you  and  I  have  accomplished  a 
series  of  perfunctory  visits,  and  yet  he  tells 
Lydia  and  me  that  we  take  our  sightseeing  quite 
too  seriously. 

M.  La  Tour  has  been  telling  us  about  the 
elaborate  New  Year's  ceremonies  once  held  at 

362 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


Chartres,  by  the  Druids.  The  mistletoe  was 
cut  by  the  cubage,  with  a  golden  faucelle,  or 
sickle,  belonging  to  one  of  the  Druidesses  and 
then  distributed  to  the  people.  The  cubage 
was,  it  appears,  a  combination  of  priest  and 
bard  whose  pleasing  task  it  was  to  cut  the 
throats  of  the  human  victims  offered  upon  the 
Druidical  altar  of  sacrifice.  This  distribution 
of  the  mistletoe  at  the  beginning  of  the  year 
may  have  led  to  our  later  use  of  the  mistle- 
toe in  the  Christmas  holiday  festivals.  Walter 
says  that  he  does  not  know  about  this,  nor 
does  M.  La  Tour ;  but  they  intend  to  look  it  up 
and  communicate  the  result  one  to  the  other. 
From  this  conversation  you  will  naturally  infer 
that  we  are  again  in  the  land  of  the  mistletoe. 
In  the  meadows  we  noticed  a  delicate  little 
mauve-colored  flower,  something  like  an  orchid, 
which  Francois  told  me  was  a  crocus,  bloom- 
ing for  the  second  time  this  season,  and  in  the 
gardens  of  the  little  gray  houses,  with  their 
red-tiled  roofs,  and  by  the  roadside  were  gor- 
geous asters  of  all  shades  of  purple.  In  the 
less  cultivated  places,  heather  blooms  luxuri- 
antly and  yellow  gorse  which  attracted  Miss 
Cassandra's  trained  botanist's  eye,  and  she 

23  353 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


suddenly  quoted  the  old  Scotch  saw,  with  about 
the  same  appropriateness  as  some  of  the  re- 
marks of  "Mr.  F's  Aunt"  in  Bleak  House: 
"  'When  gorse  is  out  of  season,  kissing  is 
out  of  fashion,'  "  and  looking  straight  at 
Archie,  she  added  encouragingly  "you  see  it 
is  still  blooming. ' ' 

It  would  be  impossible  to  accuse  Miss  Cas- 
sandra of  flirtatious  intent,  and  yet  at  her 
glance  and  words  Archie  blushed  a  beautiful 
scarlet.  I  tried  not  to  look  at  him,  as  I  knew 
that  he  was  inwardly  swearing  at  the  thinness 
of  his  skin,  or  whatever  it  is  that  makes  people 
blush.  I  couldn't  see  Lydia  without  turning 
around  and  staring  at  her;  but  Walter,  who 
enjoyed  the  whole  scene  from  his  coign  of 
vantage  beside  Frangois,  told  me  afterwards 
that  "Lydia  never  turned  a  hair,  and  so  you 
see,  Zelphine,"  he  said,  laughing  gaily,  "it  all 
rests  between  Miss  Cassandra  and  Archie." 

Seeing  in  the  distance  the  curious,  enigmat- 
ical Pile  de  Cinq  Mars,  we  suddenly  realized 
that  we  were  quite  near  Luynes,  and  Walter 
told  Francois  to  stop  there  as  he  knew  that 
Archie  would  be  charmed  with  the  beauty  of 
the  situation  of  this  chateau  which  hangs  high, 

354 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


like  an  eagle's  nest,  upon  a  bluff  above  the 
lowlands  and  the  river.  While  we  were  walk- 
ing around  and  about  the  chateau,  we  suddenly 
came  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Otis  Skinner  standing 
at  the  entrance  to  a  little  smithy,  quite  near 
the  rock-hewn  steps  that  lead  up  to  the  chateau. 
We  have  seen  so  few  Americans,  and  no  friends 
or  acquaintances  since  we  left  Tours,  and  now, 
as  we  are  again  approaching  the  old  town,  to 
meet  these  good  friends  was  a  great  pleasure. 
Mr.  Skinner  took  us  into  the  smithy,  which  is  so 
charmingly  situated,  and  we  wondered  again, 
as  at  Cheverny,  why  even  a  blacksmith's  work- 
shop is  so  much  more  picturesque  here  than 
in  England  or  America.  While  Mr.  Skinner 
was  standing  talking  to  the  blacksmith,  Lydia 
and  Archie  and  Mrs.  Skinner  managed  to  get 
snapshots  of  the  forge.  If  it  is  satisfactory,  I 
will  send  you  a  photograph,  as  we  intend  to 
exchange  pictures  and  you  shall  have  the  very 
best. 

After  this  encounter,  we  sped  along  on  our 
way  toward  Tours,  wondering  whether  Mr. 
Skinner  was  collecting  material,  atmosphere, 
etc.,  for  a  French  play.  We  are  glad  that  our 
way  lay  through  Tours  and  that  Archie  could 

355 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


have  even  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  old  capital. 
To  motor  across  the  great  bridge  and  along 
the  wide  Rue  Nationale,  and  to  have  another 
look  at  St.  Gatien,  with  its  two  beautiful 
towers,  and  at  those  other  towers  of  Charle- 
magne and  de  PHorloge  was  a  joy,  even  if  there 
was  not  time  to  stop  over  at  Tours  for  an  hour. 

At  Blois  we  gathered  up  our  luggage,  left 
the  automobile  and  took  the  train  for  Orleans. 
We  parted  from  our  Francois  with  much  regret, 
as  we  have  come  to  like  his  honest,  frank  face 
and  his  pleasant  French  ways.  Walter  and 
Archie,  I  am  quite  sure,  gave  him  a  generous 
remembrance,  Archie  especially  being  quite  in 
sympathy  with  his  dreams  of  love  in  a  Touraine 
cottage.  We  all  wished  him  happiness,  not 
without  some  misgivings  on  my  part,  I  must 
admit,  lest  his  Eloisa  of  the  bright  eyes  should 
play  him  false  for  the  charms  of  some  one  of 
those  red-legged  soldiers,  who  seem  to  pos- 
sess an  irresistible  charm  for  French  women, 
who  are  always  ready  to  sing  "J'aime  le 
militaire." 

From  Blois  to  Orleans  is  a  railroad  journey 
of  a  little  over  an  hour,  through  a  fertile,  but 
a  rather  monotonous  country  abounding  in 

356 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


fields  of  turnips.  From  the  quantities  of  this 
vegetable  raised  here,  we  naturally  conclude 
that  the  peasants  of  this  part  of  France  subsist 
chiefly  upon  turnips,  as  the  Irish  do  upon 
potatoes.  We  passed  through  many  gray 
villages,  which  tone  in  with  the  shades  of  the 
silver  poplars,  and  this  with  certain  gray 
atmospheric  effects  in  the  landscape  makes  us 
realize  how  true  to  life  are  the  delicate  gray- 
green  canvases  of  many  of  the  French  artists. 
The  Orleans  station,  like  that  of  Tours,  is 
a  delusion  and  a  snare,  as  we  were  suddenly 
landed  at  Les  Aubrais,  one  of  the  outskirts 
of  the  old  city  and  from  thence  had  to  make 
our  way  to  Orleans  as  best  we  could.  We  had 
fortunately  been  able  to  send  our  small  lug- 
gage directly  through  to  Paris  by  putting  it  in 
the  consigne,  and  paying  ten  centimes  on  each 
article.  This  convenient  and  economical  de- 
vice, which  with  all  our  travel  we  had  never 
discovered,  was  revealed  to  us  by  the  two 
charming  Connecticut  ladies  whom  we  met  at 
Amboise.  Walter  calls  down  blessings  upon  the 
pretty  heads  of  these  two  wise  New  England 
women  whenever  we  make  a  stop  over  between 
trains ;  and  Miss  Cassandra  ejaculates:  "It  takes 

357 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


a  Yankee,  my  dears,  to  find  out  the  best  way  to 
do  everything  on  the  top  of  the  earth  1" 

Having  only  ourselves  to  dispose  of,  we  soon 
found  an  omnibus  which  conveyed  us  to  the 
Place  du  Martroi,  the  soul  and  centre  of  the 
ancient  city  of  Orleans,  where  is  fitly  placed 
an  equestrian  statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  by  Foy- 
atier.  This  statue  does  not,  however,  happily 
suggest  the  Maid,  as  the  peasant  girl  of  Dom- 
remy  is  here  represented  with  a  fine  Greek 
profile,  and,  as  Archie  noticed,  with  his  keen 
horseman's  eye,  the  charger  upon  which  she 
is  mounted  is  a  race-horse  and  not  a  war-horse. 
It  is,  however,  a  noble  and  dignified  memorial, 
on  the  whole,  in  which  it  differs  from  the 
grotesque  affair  at  Chinon,  and  Dubray's  low 
reliefs  on  the  sides  of  the  pedestal,  representing 
important  scenes  in  the  life  of  the  Maid,  are 
beautiful  and  impressive. 

Here  in  Orleans,  the  scene  of  Joan's  first 
and  most  remarkable  success,  we  live  more 
completely  in  the  life  and  spirit  of  that  wonder- 
ful period  than  at  Chinon.  The  marvel  of  it 
all  impressed  us  more  forcibly  than  ever  be- 
fore. That  this  peasant  girl,  young  and  igno- 
rant of  the  art  of  war,  by  the  power  of  her 
m 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


sublime  faith  in  her  heaven-sent  mission  and  in 
herself  as  the  divinely  appointed  one,  should 
have  wrested  this  city  from  the  English,  seems 
nothing  short  of  the  miracle  that  she  and  her 
soldiers  believed  it  to  be.  Even  that  hard- 
headed  and  cold-hearted  sovereign,  Louis  XI, 
was  so  overawed  by  the  story  of  Joan's  vic- 
tories that  he  marked  with  tablets  the  little 
room  at  Domremy  where  she  was  born,  and 
also  the  convent  of  Sainte  Catherine  de  Fier- 
bois,  where  she  was  received  and  where  she 
found  her  sword  with  the  five  crosses. 

We  knew  that  the  Place  du  Martroi  was 
not  the  scene  of  Joan's  martyrdom,  and  yet 
this  wide,  noble  square,  with  her  monument  in 
the  centre,  from  which  diverge  so  many  streets 
associated  with  her  history,  stood  for  infinitely 
more  to  us  than  anything  we  had  seen  at  Eouen, 
the  actual  place  of  her  martyrdom. 

From  the  square,  M.  La  Tour  conducted  us 
to  the  cathedral,  which  has  been  criticized  by 
Victor  Hugo  and  many  others,  and  which  we, 
perhaps  from  pure  perversity,  found  much 
more  harmonious  than  we  had  expected.  The 
fagade,  which  the  local  guide-book  pronounces 
majestic,  even  if  bdtarde  in  style,  is  rich  in 

359 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


decoration,  and  the  little  columns  on  the  towers 
I  thought  graceful  and  beautiful,  however 
bdtarde  they  may  be.  Two  cathedrals  have 
stood  upon  the  site  of  the  present  Sainte  Croix, 
the  last  having  been  destroyed  by  the  Hugue- 
nots, to  whom  are  attributed  the  same  sort  of 
destruction  that  marked  the  course  of  Oliver 
Cromwell's  army  in  England.  It  is  said  that 
the  great  Protestant  leader,  Theodore  de  Beze, 
himself  blew  up  the  four  noble  pillars  that  once 
supported  the  belfry.  However  this  may  be, 
and  Miss  Cassandra  says  that  we  are  all  free 
to  believe  such  tales  or  not,  as  we  choose,  very 
little  is  left  of  the  old  edifice  except  the  eleven 
chapels  and  the  side  walls.  Even  if  Theodore 
de  Beze  destroyed  the  old  cathedral,  the  build- 
ing as  it  now  stands  was  the  work  of  his  former 
chief,  for  it  was  Henry  of  Navarre  who  laid 
the  corner  stone  of  the  new  edifice,  in  1601, 
to  fulfill  a  vow  made  to  Pope  Clement  VIII 
who  had  absolved  him  from  the  ban  of  excom- 
munication. 

In  the  side  windows,  in  richly  colored  glass, 
is  the  story  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  from  the 
day  when  she  heard  the  voices  and  a  vision 
appeared  to  her  while  she  kept  her  father's 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


sheep  in  the  fields  near  Domremy,  to  the  hour 
when  she  and  her  troops  gave  thanks  for  the 
victory  of  Orleans  in  this  cathedral.  On 
through  the  eventful  months  of  her  life  to  the 
sad  and  shameful  scenes  at  Rouen,  where  the 
innocent  and  devoted  Maid  was  burned  at  the 
stake,  while  France  which  she  had  delivered, 
and  Charles  whom  she  had  crowned,  made  no 
sign,  the  story  is  told  in  a  series  of  pictures. 
Even  if  of  modern  glass  and  workmanship,  these 
windows  seemed  to  us  most  beautiful,  especially 
those  on  the  right-hand  side  through  which  the 
light  streamed  red,  yellow  and  blue  from  the 
jewelled  panes.  The  window  representing  the 
crowning  of  Charles  VII  at  Rheims  is  especially 
rich  in  color.  Joan,  with  a  rapt  ecstatic  ex- 
pression on  her  face,  is  here  to  see  her  King 
crowned  and  with  her  is  the  banner  that  she 
loved  even  more  than  her  mystic  sword.  Be- 
low are  inscribed  her  own  simple  words,  "It 
has  been  with  him  in  the  suffering,  it  is  right 
that  it  should  be  with  him  in  the  glory."  Ever 
self-effacing,  it  was  of  her  beloved  banner  that 
Joan  was  thinking,  never  of  herself. 

The  whole  wonderful  story  is  written  upon 
these  windows  so  plainly  that  any  child  may 

361 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


read  it.  We  have  been  thinking  of  Christine 
and  Lisa,  and  wishing  that  they  were  here  to 
read  it  with  us.  They  will  learn  of  Joan  of 
Arc  in  their  histories,  but  it  will  never  be  so 
real  to  them  as  it  is  here  where  her  great  work 
was  done,  and  where  she  is  so  honored.  Some 
day  we  promise  ourselves  the  pleasure  of 
bringing  the  children  here  and  going  with  them 
through  all  the  Joan  of  Arc  country.  M.  La 
Tour,  who  has  made  the  journey,  says  that,  as 
the  Joan  of  Arc  cult  is  increasing  all  the  time, 
every  spot  associated  with  her  is  marked  and 
everything  most  carefully  preserved. 

"Most  interesting  of  all,"  he  says,  "is  the 
little  church  where  Jeanne  worshipped. 
Although  badly  restored  by  Louis  XVIII,  the 
nave  remains  intact,  and  the  pavement  is  just 
as  it  was  when  the  bare  feet  of  Jeanne  trod  its 
stones,  in  ecstatic  humility,  during  the  long 
trance  of  devotion  when  she  felt  that  super- 
natural beings  were  about  her  and  unmistak- 
able voices  were  bidding  her  to  do  what  maid 
had  never  dreamed  of  doing  before.  In  a 
little  chapel,  beside  the  main  edifice,  is  the 
stone  fount  where  the  infant  Jeanne  was  bap- 
tized. Fastened  to  the  wall  there  hangs  a  rem- 

862 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


nant  of  the  iron  balustrade,  that  Jeanne's  hands 
must  have  rested  on  during  the  hours  that  she 
passed  in  rhapsody,  seeing  what  never  was 
seen  on  land  or  sea.  A  few  steps  from  the 
church  stands  the  cot  where  the  maid  was 
born,  almost  as  humbly  as  the  Christ  Child. 
Entering  through  the  small  doorway,  you  see 
the  room  in  which  Jeanne  first  opened  her  eyes 
to  the  light.  On  one  side  stands  the  'dresser,' 
or  wardrobe,  built  half  way  into  the  wall,  where 
the  housewife  stored  the  family  belongings. 
Beside  this  is  the  iron  arm  which  held  the  lamp, 
used  during  midnight  watches.  Beyond  this 
general  room  is  the  alcove  that  served  Jeanne 
as  a  sleeping-room.  In  this  narrow  chamber, 
more  like  a  cell  than  a  sleeping-room,  Jeanne 
heard  'voices,'  and  dreamed  her  dreams." 

M.  La  Tour's  description  is  so  interesting 
that  we  all  long  to  follow  in  his  footsteps  and 
in  those  of  the  Maid,  from  the  clump  of  oak 
trees — of  which  one  still  stands — and  the 
" Fountain  of  the  Voices"  to  the  ruins  of  the 
Chateau  of  Vaucouleurs,  where  the  chivalrous 
Robert  de  Baudricourt,  impressed  by  the  girl's 
serene  confidence,  gave  her  a  letter  for  the 
King,  who  was  at  Chinon,  as  we  know. 

363 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


The  Porte  de  France  is  still  standing,  M. 
La  Tour  tells  us,  through  which  the  shepherd 
maid,  with  her  four  men-at-arms  and  her 
brother  Jean,  embarked  on  her  perilous  journey 
of  eleven  days  across  a  country  filled  with 
roaming  bands  of  British  and  Burgundian 
soldiers.  The  places  are  all  marked,  Saint- 
Urbain,  Auxerre,  Gien,  Sainte  Catherine  de 
Fierbois,  where  Jeanne  was  received  in  the 
"aumonerie"  of  the  convent,  now  transformed 
into  a  Mayor's  office.  When  we  come  to  Orleans 
with  the  children,  we  must  try  to  be  here  on 
the  8th  of  May,  when  the  whole  city  is  en  fete 
celebrating  the  glorious  victory  of  the  Maid. 
Still  talking  over  the  projected  Joan  of  Arc 
pilgrimage,  M.  La  Tour  led  us  by  the  Rue 
Jeanne  d'Arc  which  faces  the  cathedral  and  to 
the  Maison  de  1'Annonciade  where  Jacques 
Boucher,  treasurer  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  re- 
ceived the  Maid.  In  the  court  of  this  building, 
now  used  as  a  Dominican  convent,  is  a  small 
statue  of  Joan,  above  the  well.  This  house 
is  also  called  the  Maison  de  Jeanne  d'Arc,  and 
in  a  charming  Renaissance  building,  near  by, 
is  a  collection  of  relics  of  the  Maid.  For  some 
unknown  reason  this  house  is  sometimes  spoken 
of  as  the  house  of  Agnes  Sorel ;  and  with  about 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


the  same  authority  another  house  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  streets,  Charles-Sanglier  and  Des 
Albanais,  is  called  the  Maison  de  Diane  de 
Poitiers.  This  latter  mansion,  with  its  small 
towers  and  richly  ornamented  facade,  is  now 
an  historical  museum  and  is  better  known  as 
the  Hotel  Cabu. 

By  the  Rue  Eoyale,  which  suddenly  changes 
its  name  and  becomes  the  Rue  de  la  Republique 
after  it  crosses  the  Place  du  Martroi,  we  made 
our  way  to  the  Hotel  du  Ville,  a  handsome  six- 
teenth century  building  of  brick  and  stone.  On 
a  tablet  upon  the  facade  is  a  long  inscription 
telling  how  many  kings,  queens  and  notable 
personages  have  stopped  here;  but  what  in- 
terested us  much  more  is  a  statuette  in  bronze 
of  Joan,  the  work  of  the  Princess  Marie 
d 'Orleans,  daughter  of  Louis  Philippe.  The 
modest,  devout  little  maid,  represented  by  this 
statue,  is  more  like  the  real  Joan,  to  our  think- 
ing, than  most  of  the  more  pretentious  monu- 
ments. 

In  the  Salle  des  Marriages  of  the  Hotel  du 
Ville,  we  came  suddenly  upon  souvenirs  of  a 
much  later  period  than  that  of  Joan,  for  here, 
in  this  room,  Francis  II  died.  He  and  Mary  came 
here  from  Chenonceaux,  and  becoming  violently 

365 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ill  from  a  malady  in  his  ear  which  had  tor- 
tured him  for  some  time,  the  poor  young  king 
took  to  his  bed  never  to  rise  again.  His  mother 
followed  him  here,  and  at  Mary's  instance  the 
great  surgeon  Ambrose  Pare  was  summoned. 
He  wished  to  operate;  the  young  Queen  had 
full  confidence  in  his  judgment  and  skill,  but 
Catherine  resolutely  opposed  the  use  of  the 
surgeon's  knife,  and  poor  Francis  lingered  a 
few  days  in  great  pain,  and  finally  died  in  the 
arms  of  his  wife.  There  is  a  painting  in  the 
Salle  des  Marriages  of  this  sad  scene ;  Mary  is 
kneeling  by  the  bedside  of  her  husband  and 
Catherine  is  seated  nearby,  her  face  cold  and 
expressionless.  It  has  been  intimated  that 
Catherine  opposed  Ambrose  Pare  because  she 
wished  to  have  poor  Francis  removed  to  make 
way  for  a  son  whom  she  could  control  and  bend 
to  her  will;  but  with  all  her  wickedness,  it  is 
impossible  to  believe  in  such  a  motive.  One 
may,  however,  understand  her  ignorant  horror 
of  the  use  of  the  knife,  and  the  superstitious 
terror  that  haunted  her  in  view  of  the  recent 
revelations  of  Ruggieri  at  Chaumont. 

"I  think  it  is  quite  evident  what  was  amiss 
with    King   Francis!'*   exclaimed    Miss    Cas- 

366 


ORLEANS  AND  ITS  MAID 


sandra.  "He  was  suffering  from  mastoiditis, 
of  course,  and  Ambrose  Pare  was  clever  enough 
to  find  it  out,  and  might  have  saved  his  life  if 
he  had  been  allowed  to  have  his  way.  I  have  no 
patience  with  Catherine,  and  she  knew  what  she 
was  about  when  she  set  up  her  opinion  against 
that  of  a  great  surgeon. ' ' 

Archie  says  that  to  diagnose  a  case  at  a 
distance  of  several  hundred  miles  requires  con- 
siderable skill;  but  still  greater  is  the  insight 
into  obscure  maladies  of  our  Quaker  lady,  who 
bridges  over  the  centuries  and  tells  us  just  what 
disease  afflicted  Francis  II  in  the  year  of  grace 
1560;  and  he  added  quite  seriously: 

"You  may  be  quite  correct  in  your  surmise, 
Miss  West.  Your  niece  and  I  will  hunt  up 
Ambrose  Fare's  diary  when  we  get  to  Paris, 
and  see  what  he  says  about  the  case.  If  you 
are  right,  I'll  take  you  into  my  office  as  a 
partner. ' ' 

After  a  somewhat  strenuous  morning  of 
sightseeing  and  a  sumptuous  regale  at  the 
Hotel  St.  Aignan,  whose  name  pleased  us  on 
account  of  its  Dumas  flavor,  we  climbed  up  to  a 
lovely  terrace  garden  from  which  we  could  over- 
look the  town  and  the  cathedral,  to  which  dis- 

367 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


tance  certainly  lends  enchantment.  In  this 
pleasant  resting  place  I  am  writing  to  you,  dear 
Margaret,  while  we  wait  for  a  late  train  to 
Paris.  M.  La  Tour  expects  his  auto  to  meet  us 
and  convey  us  to  the  station  and  then  to  take 
him  to  his  home.  We  shall  miss  him,  as  his  kind 
attentions  and  vast  fund  of  information  have 
added  much  to  the  pleasure  of  our  sojourn  in 
Chateau  Land.  To-day  he  has  managed  our 
time  so  judiciously  that  we  have  seen  every- 
thing of  importance  in  Orleans  without  being 
hurried,  and  we  now  have  this  quiet  hour  on 
the  hillside  garden  before  setting  forth  upon 
our  journey.  He  evidently  has  no  idea  of  what 
is  happening  in  our  midst,  and  is  as  attentive 
as  ever  to  Lydia,  talking  to  her  and  walking 
with  her,  whenever  Archie  gives  him  a  chance ; 
and  who  can  blame  him!  I  have  never  seen 
Lydia  more  charming  than  she  is  to-day;  but 
the  soft  light  that  shines  in  her  eyes  is  not  for 
the  young  Frenchman,  I  am  sure.  Walter  says : 

"If  La  Tour  had  his  wits  about  him  he 
would  see  what  is  going  on  under  his  nose;  it 
takes  a  sledge  hammer  to  drive  in  some  other 
things  beside  a  joke." 

Here  comes  the  auto,  and  in  five  minutes  we 
shall  be  en  route  for  Paris, 


XVI 

A  CHATEAU  FETE 


PARIS,  September  16th. 

WE  found  Angela  eagerly  awaiting  us  when 
we  reached  our  destination,  and  I  must  admit 
still  more  eagerly  awaiting  another  arrival,  as 
Mr.  Mclvor  was  expected  by  a  train  due  here 
later  than  ours.  Since  she  had  been  with  his 
Scotch  and  English  relatives,  Angela  insists 
upon  having  her  fiance  called  Mr.  Mclvor,  as 
that  is  the  custom  in  his  own  country.  She, 
however,  much  prefers  our  calling  him  by  his 
own  delightful  Scotch  name,  Ian,  and  we  like 
him  well  enough  to  fall  in  with  her  desires. 
Ian  arrived  in  due  time,  and  our  party  is  now 
complete. 

"How  fortunate  it  is  that  the  hour  was  in 
our  favor  instead  of  the  Doctor's,"  exclaimed 
Walter;  for  according  to  French  etiquette  to 
have  left  Angela  here  unchaperoned  with  her 
lover  in  the  same  city,  even  if  not  in  the  same 
hotel,  would  have  shocked  all  ideas  of  pro- 

24  369 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


priety.  "I  fancy  that  M.  La  Tour,  good  fellow 
as  he  is,  couldn't  understand  our  leaving 
Angela  here  by  herself  even  for  a  single  night. '  ' 

"No,"  I  said,  "and  I  didn't  think  it  nec- 
essary to  tell  him." 

"Queer  notions  these  people  have!  As  if 
Angela  didn't  know  how  to  take  care  of  her- 
self!" 

No  one  knows  better,  and  I  told  Walter  how 
Angela  managed  in  London.  She  reached  there 
in  the  afternoon,  instead  of  in  the  morning  as 
she  had  expected.  Something  about  the  auto- 
mobile had  given  out  and  they  had  finally  to 
take  a  train  from  York.  When  she  reached 
the  hotel  where  she  was  to  meet  the  Dudleys, 
she  found  a  note  telling  her  to  follow  them  to 
Southampton  as  they  were  obliged  to  take  the 
night  boat.  Angela  immediately  looked  up 
trains  and  finding  that  the  next  train  would 
be  one  hour  too  late  for  the  boat,  what  do  you 
think  she  did?  She  telegraphed  to  the  Captain 
to  wait  for  her !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything 
so  delicious  f  Walter  calls  it  a  piece  of  Ameri- 
can effrontery,  but  I  call  it  quickwitted,  don't 
you?  Of  course  the  Captain  could  not  keep 
his  boat  waiting  for  any  person  of  less  distinc- 

370 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


tion  than  the  Queen ;  but  by  good  luck  (Angela 
is  always  lucky)  the  vessel  was  late  in  sailing 
that  evening.  The  Dudleys,  who  were  anxiously 
waiting  for  her  on  deck,  saw  her  coming,  just 
as  the  sailors  were  about  to  take  up  the  gang- 
plank, and  begged  the  Captain  for  a  moment's 
delay.  Of  course  Angela  looked  charmingly 
pretty  as  she  tripped  up  the  incline;  and  she 
never  realized  that  her  little  telegram  could 
be  taken  otherwise  than  seriously  until  she 
heard  the  Captain  say  to  the  first  officer,  as 
she  stepped  on  deck :  ' '  She  was  worth  waiting 
for,  after  all."  At  this  the  child  was  so  over- 
come with  confusion  that  she  did  not  know 
which  way  to  look,  and  evidently  did  not  recover 
her  self-possession  during  the  crossing.  Walter 
insists  that  she  is  still  blushing  over  her  own 
daring.  If  she  is,  it  is  vastly  becoming  to  her, 
as  I  have  never  seen  Angela  look  more 
brilliantly  beautiful. 

We  are  living  in  an  atmosphere  so  charged 
with  romance,  that  it  would  be  positively  dan- 
gerous for  two  unmated  beings  to  join  our  party 
at  this  time.  Miss  Cassandra  pays  Archie  and 
myself  the  compliment  of  appearing  to  be 
radiantly  happy  over  Lydia's  engagement,  al- 

371 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


though  I  know  that  she  drops  a  tear  in  secret 
over  M.  La  Tour  and  his  chateau.  I  tell  her 
that  this  is  not  an  entirely  safe  environment 
for  her,  especially  as  one  of  her  old  time  suitors 
is  in  Paris;  he  met  us  at  Morgan's  this  morn- 
ing and  has  been  dancing  attendance  on  Miss 
Cassandra  this  evening,  which  last,  Walter 
says,  is  a  very  disrespectful  way  to  speak  of 
the  decorous  call  of  a  dignified  Quaker  gentle- 
man. 

However  that  may  be,  Miss  Cassandra 
laughed  gaily  at  my  serious  warning,  and  with 
a  flash  of  her  bright  blue  eyes  dismissed  her 
quondam  suitor  and  my  solicitude  in  one  brief 
sentence : 

"Thee  is  very  flattering,  my  dear,  and  I 
admit  that  Jonah  is  an  excellent  person;  but 
he  is  quite  too  slow  for  me ! " 

"That  may  be;  very  few  people  are  quick 
enough  for  you,  dear  Miss  Cassandra;  but  you 
must  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Passmore  was  not 
at  all  slow  about  calling  upon  you  to-night." 

It  is  really  too  bad  to  tease  our  Quaker 
lady;  but  she  takes  it  all  so  literally  and  is  so 
charmingly  good-humored  withal  that  it  is  a 
temptation  not  easy  to  resist. 

372 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


We  are  making  the  most  of  our  few  days 
in  Paris,  as  we  leave  here  early  next  week. 
Lydia  announced  at  breakfast  that  she  felt 
it  her  duty,  and  she  hoped  that  we  should  feel 
it  to  be  ours  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  St.  Denis 
this  afternoon. 

"  After  enjoying  ourselves  in  the  chateaux 
of  the  Kings  and  Queens  of  France,  it  is,*' 
she  says,  "the  very  least  that  we  can  do  to  go 
to  St.  Denis  and  see  them  decently  and  honor- 
ably buried." 

Miss  Cassandra  quite  agreed  with  Lydia, 
and  Archie,  although  he  says  that  it  is  a  ghoul- 
ish sort  of  expedition,  would  go  anywhere  with 
her,  of  course. 

It  is  rather  odd  that  none  of  us  have  ever 
been  to  St.  Denis,  not  even  Ian  Mclvor  who 
lived  in  Paris  for  months  while  he  was  studying 
medicine.  We  set  forth  this  afternoon  in  truly 
democratic  fashion  on  top  of  a  tram,  on  one 
of  the  double-deckers  that  they  have  over  here, 
to  Angela's  great  delight.  A  rather  lively  party 
we  were,  I  must  admit,  despite  the  sobriety  of 
our  errand. 

There  was  nothing  that  especially  interested 
us  in  the  prosperous  manufacturing  town  of 

373 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


St.  Denis,  and  we  went  directly  to  the  basilica, 
which  with  the  mingling  of  the  Bomanesque 
and  Gothic  in  its  architecture  is  much  more 
beautiful  than  we  had  expected.  It  is  suffi- 
ciently ancient  to  satisfy  our  antiquarian  taste, 
as  the  site  of  the  original  abbey  dates  back  to 
275,  having  been  erected  over  the  remains  of 
St.  Dionysius  or  St.  Denis.  The  present  edifice 
owes  its  existence  to  the  Abbe  Suger  who 
reigned  here  in  the  days  of  Saint  Louis.  There 
have  been  many  restorations,  of  course,  and 
some  very  bad  ones  as  late  as  the  reign  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte.  In  this  basilica  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon  was  married  to  the  Arch- 
duchess Marie  Louise  and,  what  is  more 
interesting  to  us,  here  Joan  of  Arc  hung  up  her 
arms,  in  1429.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  the 
monuments  to  royalties  as  far  back  in  French 
history  as  Queen  Fredegonde  and  King  Dago- 
bert,  who  founded  an  abbey  here  as  early  as 
638.  The  tomb  of  Dagobert  is  a  most  remarkable 
and  realistic  representation  of  the  King's  soul 
leaving  his  body  and  its  reception  in  heaven; 
the  means  of  transportation  is  a  boat  with  oars- 
men, both  going  and  coming,  if  I  may  so  express 
it,  that  is  the  soul  of  Dagobert  goes  forth  upon 

374 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


the  unknown  sea  in  a  boat,  and  in  another 
carving  on  the  tomb  he  is  welcomed  to  the 
shores  of  heaven,  still  in  a  boat.  It  is  very 
interesting,  as  there  is  a  poetic  as  well  as  a 
realistic  side  to  the  strange  conception.  Near 
Dagobert's  monument  some  one  had  left  a  visit- 
ing card,  after  the  curious  French  fashion. 

"It  seemed  so  very  late  in  the  day  to  be 
calling  upon  King  Dagobert,"  as  Walter  re- 
marked. 

After  this  ancient  mausoleum,  that  of  Louis 
and  Anne  de  Bretagne  seemed  quite  modern, 
and  very  handsome,  much  in  the  style  of  the 
Visconti  monument  at  the  Certosa  near  Pavia. 
Not  far  from  this  tomb  we  came  upon  that 
of  Henry  II  and  Catherine  de  Medicis,  in 
which  they  are  represented  in  that  gruesome 
fashion  so  frequent  in  English  cathedral 
tombs, — the  nude  figures  below,  while  above 
in  a  beautiful  chapel,  with  marble  columns  and 
pillars,  there  are  handsome  bronze  figures  of 
the  King  and  Queen  devoutly  kneeling.  Very 
inappropriately  at  the  four  corners  are  placed 
bronze  figures  of  Faith,  Hope,  Charity  and 
Good  Works.  Catherine  is  said  to  have  planned 
this  mausoleum  herself,  and,  strange  to  relate, 

375 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


in  the  choir  we  found  another  monument  to  the 
same  King  and  Queen. 

"Just  like  the  grasping  creature  to  want 
two  tombs!"  exclaimed  Miss  Cassandra. 
"Most  people  are  satisfied  with  one." 

It  appears  that  in  her  old  age  Catherine 
disapproved  of  the  nude  figures  on  the  first 
monument,  and  had  this  one  made  with  two 
decently  robed  effigies,  in  marble,  resting  upon 
a  bronze  couch. 

We  went  down  into  the  crypt,  all  of  us  ex- 
cept Angela,  who  still  has  an  aversion  to  under- 
ground resorts.  Ian  went  with  us;  but  after 
a  hurried  glance  at  the  most  important  tombs 
he  made  his  way  back  to  the  sunshine  and  to 
Angela.  The  rest  of  the  party  went  through 
everything  quite  resolutely,  although  we  found 
this  ancient  crypt  of  the  good  Abbe  Suger 
even  more  gruesome  than  most  crypts.  The 
guide  directed  us  to  a  tiny  window,  through 
which  we  could  see  the  place  where  poor  Marie 
Antoinette  and  Louis  XVI  were  finally  buried, 
at  least  all  that  could  be  found  of  their  remains. 
Here  a  light  was  burning,  which  they  told  us 
was  never  allowed  to  go  out.  In  strange  con- 
trast to  thin  tolemn  little  chapel,  there  is  a 

376 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


kneeling  figure  of  the  Queen  on  one  side  of 
the  crypt  in  a  ball  dress  with  jewels  around  her 
neck.  This  statue,  by  Petitot,  although  strangely 
inappropriate  in  costume,  is  beautiful  in  ex- 
pression, and  in  the  modelling  of  the  face,  arms, 
and  hands,  the  latter  being  very  lovely. 

Here  also  is  a  "Caveau  Imperial,"  con- 
structed by  the  order  of  Napoleon  III,  as  the 
burial  place  of  his  dynasty.  This  tomb  is  quite 
untenanted,  of  course,  as  no  Bonapartes  lie  at 
St.  Denis;  although  the  bones  of  the  Valois, 
Orleans  and  Bourbon  families,  who  have  come 
and  gone  in  France,  probably  forever,  are 
royally  entombed  here,  from  their  early  sover- 
eigns down  to  Louis  XVIII. 

I  tell  you  all  this  because  I  think  you  have 
not  been  to  St.  Denis,  and  we  found  it  so  much 
more  interesting  than  we  had  expected.  Walter 
and  Archie  made  their  acknowledgments  to 
Lydia,  in  due  form,  and  indeed  we  should  never 
have  made  this  pilgrimage  had  she  not  been 
enterprising  enough  to  lead  us  forth  toward 
St.  Denis  and  its  royal  tombs. 

September  17th. 

Madame  La  Tour  and  her  son  made  a  formal 
call  upon  us  yesterday.  M.  La  Tour  had  al- 

377 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ready  dropped  in,  in  his  friendly  way,  to  inquire 
after  our  comfort  and  to  offer  his  services, 
as  a  guide  to  anything  that  we  might  wish  to 
see.  As  Madame  had  announced  her  coming 
we  were  at  home  to  receive  her.  She  is 
pretty  and  graceful,  a  charming  combination 
of  the  American  and  French  woman.  We  all 
fell  in  love  with  her.  M.  La  Tour  is  frankly 
proud  of  his  mother  and  was  anxious  that  we 
should  meet  her.  He  has  evidently  not  yet 
grasped  the  situation  of  affairs,  although 
during  the  visit,  which  was  brief  if  somewhat 
embarrassing,  I  could  see  nothing  but  the 
sapphire  that  sparkled  upon  Lydia 's  finger. 
Madame  La  Tour  very  cordially  invited  Lydia 
to  go  to  the  opera  with  her,  and  M.  La  Tour 
was  evidenly  much  disappointed  when  she  de- 
clined in  consequence  of  another  engagement. 

11  Lydia  never  said  a  truer  word  in  her  life!'* 
exclaimed  Walter,  after  the  visitors  had  de- 
parted; "but  La  Tour  is  very  stupid  not  to 
know  what  sort  of  an  engagement  it  is  that  she 
has  on  her  hands." 

Upon  which  I  suggested  that  Walter  should 
mention  the  engagement  to  M.  La  Tour,  quite 
casually,  in  the  course  of  conversation. 

378 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


"Why  not  tell  him  yourself,  Zelphine?  You 
are  so  much  more  adroit  at  that  sort  of  thing." 

"It  is  really  becoming  embarrassing.  Some 
flowers  came  last  night,  forget-me-nots  again, 
to  Archie's  amusement.  Now  if  Lydia  had  been 
anything  but  just  ordinarily  nice  and  pleasant 
to  him,  as  she  is  to  everyone,  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent." 

*  *  Well,  and  even  if  she  had  been  more  than 
ordinarily  nice  to  La  Tour  why  do  you  trouble 
yourself  about  it,  Zelphine?  It  is  something 
that  only  concerns  Lydia  and  La  Tour,  and 
Archie  perhaps  in  a  way,  but  we  really  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

Thus,  manlike,  does  Walter  push  aside  all 
part  and  lot  in  the  affaires  du  coeur  of  his 
fellow-travellers ;  but  I  have  just  had  a  brilliant 
and  beautiful  idea,  which  I  intend  to  communi- 
cate to  Archie  at  once.  We  were  all  talking 
en  route  of  the  Chateau  of  Vaux-le-Vicomte. 

As  this  is  a  land  where  people  make  a  fete 
upon  every  occasion,  Archie  shall  give  a  break- 
fast at  Melun  or  some  place  near  the  chateau, 
and  invite  us  all,  and  the  La  Tours  also,  an 
engagement  party.  I  have  no  doubt  the  French 
have  some  charming  name  for  this  sort  of  an 

379 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


entertainment,  which  we  can  find  out.    I  shall 
write  you  later  of  the  success  of  my  plan. 

September  18th, 

Of  course  Archie  was  delighted  with  my 
suggestion,  as  he  and  Lydia  have  been  promis- 
ing themselves  the  pleasure  of  an  excursion 
to  Vaux-le-Vicomte  which  seems  to  go  by  the 
name  of  Vaux-Praslin  at  the  present  time. 
Archie  and  Walter  did  the  very  kindest  and 
most  friendly  thing,  which  in  the  end  proved 
to  be  the  most  advantageous  to  themselves. 
They  took  M.  La  Tour  into  their  confidence  and 
consulted  with  him  as  to  how  the  little  excur- 
sion should  be  made  and  where  the  breakfast 
should  be  given.  Naturally  the  poor  boy  was 
very  much  surprised,  and  quite  downhearted 
when  he  found  out  what  event  was  to  be 
celebrated,  and  we  did  not  see  him  for  two 
whole  days,  not  until  this  evening,  when  he 
called  and  off ered  his  congratulations  to  Lydia 
in  pretty  French  phrases. 

Angela  is  charmed  with  M.  La  Tour  and 
his  manners,  and  says  that  she  does  not  see 
how  Lydia  could  possibly  resist  his  fascina- 
tions ;  this  with  a  mischievous  glance  at  Ajchie, 

380 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


who,  serene  and  confident  in  his  own  happiness, 
replies  that  Lydia  is  probably  making  the  mis- 
take of  her  life  in  turning  away  from  the  young 
Frenchman  and  his  chateau. 

But  Lydia  knows  that  she  is  making  no 
mistake  and  takes  all  this  jesting  in  good 
part;  but  she  insists  that  the  little  celebration 
shall  be  called  a  chateau  fete,  as  Vaux-le- 
Vicomte  is  our  objective  point.  This  is  in  much 
better  taste,  and,  after  all,  we  don't  know  the 
French  name  for  an  engagement  fete. 

1  'We  certainly  don't  want  to  ask  La  Tour 
to  inform  our  ignorance,"  as  Walter  says.  "It 
would  be  like  requiring  the  man  who  is  down 
on  his  luck  to  name  the  happy  day.  It  is  quite 
better  taste,  and,  after  all,  we  don't  know  the 
the  occasion." 

Miss  Cassandra  and  Walter  and  I  went  to 
the  American  church  this  morning  because  we 
like  the  simple  service  there,  and  the  rest  of 
the  party  went  to  the  Russian  Church  to  hear 
the  music,  which  was  very  good  to-day.  The 
afternoon  we  all  spent  at  Versailles,  where  we 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  see  the  fountains  play. 
Nothing,  not  even  the  chateaux  of  the  Loire, 
gives  us  so  realizing  a  sense  of  the  gayety  and 

381 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


splendor  of  the  life  of  the  French  court,  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  as  this 
vast  palace  of  pleasure  when  the  gardens  bask 
in  sunshine  and  the  fountains  are  playing.  We 
recalled  Madame  de  Sevigne's  spirited  descrip- 
tion of  the  court  and  royal  family  setting  forth 
upon  some  pleasure  party,  herself  among  them, 
tucked  in  snugly  in  the  same  carosse  with  her 
favorite,  Duchesse  de  La  Valliere,  or  Madame 
de  Montespan  of  the  many  ringlets,  for  whom 
she  cares  nothing, — these  two  ladies  in  close 
quarters  although  cordially  hating  each  other. 
The  Queen  is  in  another  carosse  with  her  chil- 
dren, and  the  King,  being  a  free  lance,  drives 
in  the  coach  with  the  royal  favorites  or  rides 
beside  it  as  his  fancy  dictates. 

Our  fete  is  to  be  on  Tuesday,  and  M.  La  Tour 
came  to  the  hotel  this  evening  with  a  well 
arranged  plan.  He  really  is  a  dear,  and  having 
plenty  of  spirit  and  a  certain  kind  of  pride  that 
seems  to  belong  to  well-bred  French  people,  he 
has  no  idea  of  wearing  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve, 
even  for  the  love  of  Lydia.  His  suggestions 
are  most  practical  and  sensible,  and  his  advice 
to  Archie  is  to  go  to  Fontainebleu  first  and  have 
a  walk  through  the  forest,  breakfast  at  one  of 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


the  hotels  there,  and  motor  to  Vaux-le-Vicomte, 
by  way  of  Melun,  in  the  afternoon.  It  all 
sounds  perfectly  delightful,  and  I  have  secured 
a  copy  of  the  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,  at  Bren- 
tano  's,  in  order  to  read  over  again  his  account 
of  Fouquet's  reception  of  the  King  at  Vaux. 
We  shall  be  glad  to  see  Fontainebleau  again. 
Since  we  have  seen  the  chateaux  of  the  Loire, 
all  of  these  palaces  near  Paris  are  most  inter- 
esting to  us,  as  they  make  us  realize,  as  we 
have  never  done  before,  what  a  great  pleasure 
park  much  of  France  was  under  the  Valois  and 
the  Bourbons.  If  the  forest  of  Chambord  was 
vast  with  its  many  acres,  so  also  was  that  of 
Fontainebleau  with  its  42,500  acres.  Palaces 
of  pleasure,  all  of  these  chateaux  were  intended 
to  be,  as  were  Chenonceaux,  Azay  le  Bideau, 
Blois  and  Chambord,  although  many  of  them 
are  stained  by  dark  and  bloody  crimes.  Pass- 
ing through  the  gardens  and  park  of  Ver- 
sailles to-day  we  forgot  the  terrible  scenes  that 
were  enacted  there  in  1793,  until  the  guide 
pointed  out  to  us  the  Queen's  apartments,  and 
showed  us  the  little  room  from  which  Marie 
Antoinette  fled  for  safety  to  the  King's  rooms, 
on  that  October  night  of  horror,  when  the 
Parisan  mob  swept  down  upon  the  palace. 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


September  20th. 

Our  day  in  the  open  was  a  brilliant  success. 
Archie  had  a  large  automobile,  or  perhaps  I 
should  say  a  touring  car,  large  enough  to  hold 
us  all.  Madame  La  Tour  declined,  and  so  we 
have  our  chateau  party,  with  the  pleasant 
addition  of  Angela  and  Ian,  who  naturally  en- 
tered with  great  spirit  into  the  celebration. 
We  had  all  the  time  we  needed  at  Fontainebleau, 
entering  by  the  old  Cour  du  Cheval  Blanc,  but 
avoiding  the  interior  of  the  palace,  as  we  had 
all  been  here  before,  some  of  us  several  times, 
and  spending  all  our  time  in  the  gardens  and 
forest  which  are  ever  new  and  always  beautiful. 
We  looked  for  the  quincunx  near  which  Louise 
de  La  Valliere  and  her  companions  were  hiding 
when  the  king  and  St.  Aignan  overheard  their 
girlish  confidences,  but  not  finding  anything 
answering  to  Dumas 's  description wehad  to  con- 
tent ourselves  with  a  labyrinth  which  M.  La 
Tour  thinks  should  answer  quite  as  well.  At 
the  end  of  it  is  the  huge  grape-vine,  called  the 
King's  Vine,  which  reminded  us  of  the  vine  at 
Hampton  Court,  and  like  it  is  said  to  produce 
an  enormous  crop  of  grapes. 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


Archie's  breakfast  was  delightful,  an  al 
fresco  entertainment  under  a  spreading  horse- 
chestnut  tree  in  the  garden  of  a  hotel  at  Fon- 
tainebleau.  The  table  was  beautifully  decorated 
with  flowers  and  fruit,  and  the  menu,  which  was 
suggested  by  M.  La  Tour,  was  the  sort  to  tempt 
one's  appetite  on  a  warm  day  like  this,  for  it  is 
summer  here  and  much  like  our  September 
weather  at  home. 

Walter  complimented  M.  La  Tour  so 
heartily  upon  his  good  taste  that  he  laughingly 
reminded  Walter  of  our  first  acquaintance  at 
the  Bon  Laboreur,  and  asked  him  if  he  still  had 
a  poor  opinion  of  the  French  cuisine.  "Not 
when  you  have  anything  to  do  with  the  ordering, 
my  dear  fellow ! ' '  was  the  response.  ' '  Perhaps 
my  taste  needed  to  be  cultivated,  for  I  have 
come  to  like  some  of  your  French  dishes  very 
much,  and  as  for  your  wines,  my  taste  did 
not  need  to  be  cultivated  to  like  them;  I 
took  to  them  quite  naturally."  There  were 
toasts,  speeches  and  good  wishes,  Angela  and  Ian 
coming  in  for  their  full  share.  Altogether  some- 
thing to  be  remembered  was  that  luncheon 
under  the  chestnut  tree,  and  near  the  great 
forest  of  Fontainebleau,  one  of  the  many  pleas- 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ant  things  to  be  stored  up  in  our  memories  in 
connection  with  our  days  in  Chateau  Land. 

This  motor  trip,  to  Vaux-le-Vicomte,  which, 
seemed  so  short  to  us,  was  evidently  quite 
an  affair  to  Louis  XIV  and  his  court,  as, 
according  to  Dumas,  there  was  some  talk  of 
stopping  at  Melun  over  night.  As  we  know, 
large  bodies  move  slowly,  and  the  royal 
party  must  have  been  sufficiently  cumbersome, 
with  the  heavy  coaches  of  the  King,  of  the  two 
Queens,  Anne  of  Austria  and  Maria  Teresa, 
and  the  several  coaches  of  their  maids  of  honor, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  outriders,  the  Swiss  Guards 
and  the  Musketeers  with  our  friend  D'Art- 
agnan  at  their  head.  A  small  army  was  this, 
that  passed  over  the  road  that  we  travel  to-day, 
lighting  up  the  gray-green  landscape  with  all 
colors  of  the  rainbow. 

At  the  Chateau  of  Vaux-le-Vicomte,  of 
which  we  had  only  expected  to  see  the  outside, 
M.  La  Tour  had  a  surprise  for  us,  as  he  had 
managed,  in  some  way,  to  secure  tickets  of 
admission.  We  mounted  the  great  steps,  en- 
tered the  vast  vestibule  and  passed  through 
the  salons  in  which  are  beautiful  paintings  by 
Mignard  and  the  two  Le  Bruns.  As  we  wan- 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


dered  through  these  rooms,  richly  furnished  and 
hung  with  old  tapestries,  and  into  the  rotunda, 
capped  by  its  great  dome,  we  wondered  in  which 
of  these  rooms  Moliere's  play  had  been  given. 

The  performance  of  Les  Facheux,  written 
especially  for  the  occasion,  was  the  crowning 
glory  of  the  King's  visit  to  Vaux.  We  learned 
that  it  was  not  given  in  any  of  these  rooms, 
but  in  the  garden,  in  the  starlight.  When  the 
guests  were  seated,  Moliere  appeared,  and  with 
well  counterfeited  surprise  at  seeing  the  King, 
apologized  for  having  no  players  with  him  and 
no  play  to  give.  At  this  juncture,  there  arose 
from  the  waters  of  a  fountain  nearby,  a  nymph 
in  a  shell,  who  gracefully  explained  that  she 
had  come  from  her  home  beneath  the  water  to 
behold  the  greatest  monarch  that  the  world  had 
ever  seen. 

We  can  well  believe  that  a  play,  set  in  this 
flattering  key,  was  calculated  to  please  the 
King,  who  was  praised  all  through  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  courtiers,  who  were  les  fdcheux,  the 
bores.  After  this  rare  bit  of  adulation  Moliere's 
fortune  was  made. 

For  the  host,  Fouquet,  who  had  gathered  so 
much  here  to  give  the  King  pleasure,  a  far  dif- 

887 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


ferent  fate  was  reserved.  The  sumptuous  en- 
tertainment, the  show  of  wealth  on  all  sides, 
aroused  bitter  jealousy  in  the  King's  heart,  and 
when  some  designing  person  (Colbert,  it  is 
said)  whispered  in  his  ear  that  Fouquet,  not 
content  with  outshining  his  sovereign  in  the 
magnificence  .of  his  chateau,  had  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  royal  favorite,  Louise  de  La  Valliere, 
the  King's  wrath  knew  no  bounds.  He  was 
eager  to  have  Fouquet  arrested,  while  he  was 
still  accepting  his  hospitality. 

One  of  the  finest  passages  in  Dumas 's  de- 
scription of  the  fete  at  Vaux-le-Vicomte  is  that 
in  which  Colbert  tries  to  inflame  his  royal  mas- 
ter's jealousy,  while  the  usually  timid  and 
gentle  Louise  de  La  Valliere  urges  the  King  to 
control  his  wrath,  reminding  him  that  he  is  the 
guest  of  M.  Fouquet  and  would  dishonor  himself 
by  arresting  him  under  such  circumstances. 

"He  is  my  King  and  my  master,"  said  La 
Valliere,  turning  to  Fouquet;  "I  am  the 
humblest  of  his  servants.  But  he  who  touches 
his  honor  touches  my  life.  Now,  I  repeat  that 
they  dishonor  the  King  who  advise  him  to  arrest 
M.  Fouquet  under  his  own  roof.  .  .  .  Were  M. 
Fouquet  the  vilest  of  men,  I  should  say  aloud, 


A  CHATEAU  FETE 


'H.  Fouquet's  person  is  sacred  to  the  King 
because  he  is  the  King's  host.  Were  his  house 
a  den  of  thieves,  were  Vaux  a  cave  of  coiners  or 
robbers,  his  home  is  sacred,  his  palace  invio- 
lable, since  his  wife  is  living  in  it;  and  it  is  an 
asylum  which  even  executioners  would  not  dare 
to  violate.'  " 

These  words,  from  the  woman  whom  he 
loved,  influenced  Louis,  and  for  the  time  he  re- 
linquished his  design ;  but  eighteen  days  after  the 
great  festival  at  Vaux,M.  Fouquet  was  arrested, 
near  Nantes  as  we  know,  and  ended  his  days 
in  prison.  This  magnificent  chateau,  which  the 
architect  Le  Vau,  the  artist  Le  Brun,  and  the 
landscape  gardener  Le  Notre  had  conspired 
to  make  so  beautiful,  is  still,  in  a  way,  a  monu- 
ment to  the  great  financier,  although  it  has 
passed  from  his  family  into  the  hands  of  the 
Duke  de  Praslin. 

Unlike  many  of  the  chateaux,  Vaux-le- 
Vicomte  is  still  the  home  of  people  who  love  its 
beautiful  lawns  and  parterres  and  keep  them 
green  and  blooming.  Armies  of  gardeners  trim 
the  hedges,  plant  the  borders,  and  remove  every 
stray  leaf  from  the  gravel  paths.  Here  we 
saw  the  perfection  of  French  gardening. 


IN  CHATEAU  LAND 


As  we  motored  home  by  the  light  of  the 
stars,  we  felt  that  this,  our  last  day  in  Chateau 
Land,  was  one  of  the  happiest  that  we  had 
known.  We  would  like  to  stay  longer  in  Paris 
and  visit  the  many  chateaux  within  motoring 
distance  of  the  capital ;  but  our  holiday  time  is 
nearly  over.  Walter  starts  for  Lausanne  to- 
night, to  gather  up  the  children  and  bring  them 
to  London,  whither  we  all  go  to-morrow.  We 
shall  have  a  few  days  there,  and  as  many  more 
in  Oxford,  where  Walter  has  some  engagements 
with  old  friends,  and  then  to  Southampton 
and  home.  We  all  sail  October  first,  all  except 
Ian  Mclvor,  who  comes  over  in  December  for 
a  very  important  event.  You  and  Allen  must 
come  some  time,  and  visit  with  us  the  chateaux 
that  we  have  seen,  and  see  the  others  that  we 
have  not  yet  visited.  For  to-night,  au  revoir. 
Life  has  many  joys,  and  not  the  least  among 
them  is  to  see  the  beautiful  places  of  the  earth, 
in  congenial  company,  such  as  yours,  dear 
Margaret. 

Yours  always  devoted, 
ZELPHINE. 


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